


As a Thing and Its Shadow

by villavona



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anbu Hatake Kakashi, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Missing-Nin Hatake Kakashi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, me fixing everything by making it even worse, yes i put kakashi/obito but it won't be the focus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:13:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26313211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villavona/pseuds/villavona
Summary: “You’re getting fat,” Kakashi tells him. “In your old age.”“Kid,” Pakkun says. “You’re the one that’s aging me. Here you are, summoning me at sunrise. In my twilight years, I need all the rest I can get, but do you let me have it? No, you wake me up and—”“It’s Itachi,” Kakashi interrupts. Pakkun goes still. “He was in Konoha last night.”Pakkun blinks. “Why?”“I don’t know. I didn’t realize who it was till I called you. I didn’t recognize his chakra.”or: Six months later, Kakashi finds out the truth about the Uchiha massacre. Things go differently.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi & Uchiha Itachi, Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito, Uchiha Itachi & Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Itachi & Uchiha Shisui
Comments: 56
Kudos: 378





	1. Kakashi Suffers, But Only On The Low, Okay?

**Author's Note:**

> JUDGE: ao3 user villavona, you are accused of writing Naruto AU fic in the year of our lord 2020. how do you plead?  
> ME: Unemployed and in a global pandemic, your honor.  
> JUDGE: i hereby find you guilty of loving naruto unironically, you fuckin broke ass weeb. there will be no punishment as we're all in quarantine and in hell.  
> ME: yeah mood
> 
> I own nothing. Mr. Kishimoto i just care about your characters and i want them to be doper. title is from Housekeeping, by Marilynne Robinson

Kakashi wakes up in the hospital, again, and wishes he hadn’t. 

He slides his eye shut, before the nurse switching out his IV drip can notice, and waits until she leaves the room. Mentally, he tallies up his injuries, lingering aches, and the numb spots that must be anesthetic. One broken ankle, wrenched back into place and bandaged on the fly. Second degree burns up both arms, from the endless waves of fire jutsu the target’s guards had been fond of. One dislocated shoulder, presumably popped back into place by a medic and throbbing. Entire abdomen numb, where they must have given him anesthesia while they put his insides back inside of him. All told, he’ll live. Again.

They let him out the next day, everything mostly healed except his insides, which apparently will work themselves out. Kakashi has his doubts about this, but he doesn’t have the energy to find out more from a harried nurse, and he believes the medics probably want to keep him alive. He’s too good of a shinobi to waste. 

He heads to the memorial first, on autopilot. The stone is as solid and unyielding as ever. He kneels before it, chilly wind lifting the edges of his hair, and finds he really doesn’t have anything to say. Doesn’t know how to express the weary numbness inside of him, doesn’t have it in him to find the words for the bone-deep exhaustion that permeates his every minute. 

Rin and Obito wouldn’t understand, anyway. Rin, with her unwavering faith in both him and Obito, her sweetness untarnished by the war they grew up in. She was a medic-nin, straightforward on her path to being a healer. Kakashi doesn’t think that he could explain to her the pointlessness of his own work, the endless missions that are supposedly keeping Konoha safe by killing other people. And Obito would not understand why Kakashi keeps unquestioningly accepting these jobs. They never talked in life, not really. Kakashi can’t even begin to imagine how he would explain this to Obito, when his Obito is frozen as a brash thirteen-year-old to Kakashi’s twenty-one. No matter how close he holds Obito’s memory, it doesn’t change the fact that Obito’s dead, decaying somewhere in Iwa, and Kakashi hasn’t spoken to him in eight years. It’s a long time, to talk to your barely teenage friend, while you grow up without him. 

—

Tenzo finds him the next day. He’s stuck in a semi-doze that refuses to become a nap, but that he knows he’ll be sleepy if he wakes up from. 

“Kakashi-senpai,” says Tenzo carefully, and Kakashi slits his eye open, sleep-deprived and irritable. Tenzo holds up both hands. “I brought you food.”

He’s not sure if he’s allowed to eat regular food with his stomach still screwed up. They were giving him ice chips and IV nutrition in the hospital. But whatever. Tenzo would probably sulk if he didn’t eat.

It’s a katsu sandwich, meaty and still hot and filling enough that he demolishes the whole thing in a few seconds and ignores the way an ache blooms in his gut as he swallows it. Tenzo tosses him a bottled water and a bag of potato chips, the greasy salt and pepper kind he likes, and he nods his thanks. 

“Kakashi-senpai,” Tenzo starts again. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Like he’d ever give a different answer to that.

Tenzo frowns at him, but doesn’t press. “You coming to the meeting?”

The meeting. The godsdamned meeting that active ANBU have to go to once a month to be very vaguely briefed on The State of Things (generally: “it’s okay but we need you to kill more people that we can’t tell you about in more detail in case you are captured and tortured”), told that they are carrying out great deeds for Konohagakure (generally: a lot of reference to the Will of Fire, the legacy of the Senju, the ever-present threat of war, and invocation of the tender children and civilians that they are supposedly protecting), and have their mental states probed delicately to see if they are on the verge of psychotic breaks that could wind up with people dead. This last is a recent addition, begun only in the last six months after Itachi lost his shit and murdered his entire family. The Obito in Kakashi’s head remarks that this feels a bit like closing the barn door after the horse is gone, to which Kakashi’s mental self responds that they should have closed the proverbial barn door after his own father killed himself in a cesspool of shame and left his kid alone. 

Kakashi forcibly shuts down that whole train of thought before he can think in more circles, and says to Tenzo, “isn’t it mandatory?”

Tenzo blinks at him. “You try as hard as you can to skip it every month. You told me last month that you do your damndest to be sick, dead, or out of the Village so you don’t have to go to this meeting.”

Kakashi does remember saying something like that, but he didn’t think Tenzo would commit his words to memory with quite this much accuracy. He opens his mouth to say so, but it doesn’t seem worth pursuing. Tenzo is too literal for the argument to go anywhere. 

He sighs instead. “Well. Unfortunately, I am not sick, dead, or gone. Give me ten minutes.”

He takes a shower, washes the lingering sleep out of his eyes, scrubs absentmindedly at the blood leaking from his stitches, and puts on clean ANBU blacks. He blow-dries his hair because he doesn’t want it dripping down his back for the next three hours, okay, shut up, Obito. Tenzo tosses him his mask as he emerges—scrubbed clean of the blood and dirt on it, the kid is ridiculous—and they head out. 

—

Gai is waiting for him when they’re released from ANBU HQ. Kakashi tries instantly to duck back into the ANBU locker room, where Gai can’t follow, but it’s useless against the tide of ANBU agents streaming out after the meeting. 

“RIVAL KAKASHI!” Gai booms, and Kakashi winces. They’re not supposed to be quite so obvious about their identities, even if by virtue of chakra signature and a lifetime of familiarity everyone knows who everyone else is anyway. 

He turns around, deliberately smoothing the stiffness from his shoulders. “Hey, Gai.”

Gai beams at him, throwing a green arm around his shoulders. “Take off your mask, my friend! You are off duty! We must go celebrate your safe return!”

Celebrate. His safe return. Kakashi has to hold back a snort. Getting his abdomen sliced open and nearing chakra exhaustion doesn’t seem like much of a reason to celebrate, even if he did finish the assassination. Another few days in the hospital, more lingering pain, and a short break before being sent back out again. Joy. 

Kakashi scrambles for an excuse. “I would, Gai, but I am just…” He has nothing. He racks his brains for any activity that seems even vaguely appealing, and comes up short. He can’t think of a single thing he would rather be doing, and how sad is that? 

It doesn’t matter, because Gai isn’t even paying attention to him. Apparently that was less of an invitation, and more of a statement, because he’s already being hauled down the street to the sports bar his classmates who’ve made jounin now frequent. Kurenai and Asuma are already at a table, bickering. Well, Kurenai is making fun of Asuma, who’s smoking silently, punctuated by an occasional grunt.

“My friends!” Gai hollers as they walk up. “Look who is hale and hearty again!”

“Yo,” says Kakashi. Asuma draws out a chair for him. 

“What’ll it be, Kakashi?” Kurenai asks. “Asuma’s buying.”

“I am not,” says Asuma.

“Thank you, my friend!” Gai booms. “Asuma, I will have an ale! And an old fashioned for my honorable rival, here.”

“I don’t work here,” Asuma says. “Tell it to the waiter. And I’m not buying.” 

“But surely you want to celebrate Kakashi’s safe return!” 

Kurenai grins. “Yeah, Asuma. Do you not think Kakashi’s completing a mission is cause for celebration?”

“I complete missions all the time, and Kakashi’s never bought me a drink,” Asuma grumbles, but he digs out his wallet anyway. 

Kakashi places a hand over his heart, wounded. “How can you forget that I bought you dinner when you made jounin?”

“That was literally years ago!” Asuma growls. “And you said you’d pay, and then said you forgot your wallet!”

“But I _wanted_ to pay,” Kakashi assures him. 

Gai nods in solemn agreement. “It is the intention of paying that matters, my dear Asuma.” 

Kakashi sips his drink, losing himself in their easy byplay. There’s a basketball game on TV that’s at least mildly entertaining, and he chimes into the conversation when he has to, usually at Asuma’s expense. Sarcasm is easy, has always been easy, and seems to satisfy everyone. There’s a script here, one they’ve followed for half a decade. Asuma is the butt of the joke, on the receiving end of gentle ribbing from everyone else. Gai is earnest, the final word, serious even in his buoyant enthusiasm. Kurenai is sly, sweetly mischievous, the one who starts the verbal sparring. 

It’s easy for Kakashi to slip into his established role. He’s sarcastic, dickish, quips after Kurenai’s lines. Surface-level, these nights might be, but it’s a touchstone of sorts, a semiregular return to the little world they create in this bar at this table between missions and fights and the endless churn of life as shinobi. They don’t talk about work beyond some ironic bravado, funny stories, gossip of who’s lost to who and who thinks they’re all that. Mostly they talk about basketball, a new movie Gai’s seen, make fun of Asuma’s newest punk band, debate whether or not Kurenai should get bangs. 

It’s three drinks and a few hours later when Kurenai says to him, casual, “You were hospitalized again, Kakashi?” 

Kakashi looks up at her, surprised. “Yeah. Sliced up my stomach.”

She nods, tracing a finger around the rim of her glass. “How long before the next one?”

He lifts one shoulder, unsure where she’s going with this. “I don’t know. Tomorrow, maybe the day after.”

Gai and Asuma have turned their chairs away from the table to shoot dice on the scuffed bar floor, but Gai looks up. “So soon! You need a longer break, rival Kakashi!”

Kakashi shrugs, noncommittal. He doesn’t have a lot of control over how much of a break he gets. And it’s not like he has anything to do in Konoha, so they tend to send him out more than the shinobi with duties at home. He doesn’t complain. Better out beyond the walls, even wading through blood and death the way he does, than staying in the suffocating emptiness of Konoha, where he used to have so much more than he does now. In town, Minato-sensei and Kushina’s absence still feels fresh, the memorial stone with his team’s names engraved on it all the more forbidding and lifeless. And the missions he takes at this point are so brutal that he doesn’t want any other shinobi, even other ANBU, to have to live with them. Since Itachi’s defection, he’s been sent only on solo jobs. Deliberately or not, he’s not sure, but it seems best to him. Even without knowing what exactly happened with his young teammate, Kakashi would bet that the cold-blooded viciousness of ANBU work didn’t help. It’s better now that he takes those missions, with no family or friends left to hurt at home, than anyone like Itachi. 

There’s an irony in that, he knows—that because he got one genin teammate crushed, killed the other with his own hand, and failed to save Minato and Kushina from their early grave—because he’s gotten everyone in his life killed, he’s now the optimal black ops agent. Friend-killer Kakashi, shadow protector of the village. Funny. 

But he doesn’t know how to put any of that into words, and it’s not something he’d say to his classmates anyway. They don’t talk about that kind of thing, ever. So he shrugs, and when they wait expectantly for something more, says, “I can’t break for too long, Gai, or I’ll have to start accepting your challenges.” 

Gai doesn’t take the bait, doesn’t return them to equilibrium. He frowns at Kakashi, impressive eyebrows drawing together. 

Next to Kakashi, Kurenai says in a low voice, “If I didn’t know better, Kakashi, I’d say you’re throwing your own life away.”

He doesn’t meet her red gaze. Gai’s flipping a die between the fingers of one hand, still frowning. Asuma stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray.

Kakashi makes himself look at Kurenai, and says evenly, careful not to sound angry, “It’s a good thing you know better, isn’t it?” He stands up, grabbing his jacket off the chair back. “It’s getting late. I’ll see you all around.” 

Gai gives him an intense, unreadable look; Kakashi thinks he looks almost disappointed, but can’t fathom why. 

“Good night, Hatake,” Asuma says steadily. “Be safe out there.” Kurenai just nods at him, red eyes glittering in the dim bar. 

Kakashi salutes them lazily, and takes his leave. 

He takes the long way home. This just means walking rather than a shunshin, but still. The scenic route, Minato-sensei would say when all three of them were too weary to follow him into yet another body flicker. We’ll just take the scenic route, then, winking at Obito, who had the greatest chakra stores out of the three of them and would wink back conspiratorially. Kakashi remembers resenting this, at the time, but it doesn’t rankle now like it did then. Mostly he just feels the same wave of loss he always feels, and ignores it.

He’s cutting across the rooftops, still a little tipsy, when something trips the edge of his consciousness and he pulls up short. It’s gone before he can really register it, and he can’t figure out what it was that made him stop, something just on the tip of his tongue. He’s full of adrenaline all of a sudden, heartbeat pounding in his ears.

But whatever it is is already gone. He shuts his eyes and inhales, reaching out mentally as far as he can. He’s not a good sensor, but there’s nothing there. A lot of sleeping chakra, drunk voices spilling out of the bars below, the tension of the shinobi on guard at the wall half a mile away. Nothing, and whatever he sensed is long gone. He already can’t remember what it felt like, only the memory of his nerves tingling. 

—

His dreams are strange. The forest around Konoha, shifting, the sense of foreboding. He’s with his old ANBU team, but someone is missing. He counts, again and again, and can’t tally up everyone. There should be more of them, but they haven’t been attacked, and no one is lost, and they’re right by the village. He counts again. It’s off, but he doesn’t know what the right number should be. He counts again. It’s the right number, but someone is missing. Three black-cloaked figures crouch in the trees, the leaves swaying dark overhead. He counts again. There’s one less, someone is gone, but there’s still three ANBU masks looking blankly back at him. And there’s someone watching them, the forest itself shifting to hide them, and Kakashi stares into the bushes. 

Two red eyes blink open back at him, tomoe lengthening into a bloodred pinwheel. 

He jerks awake, heart pounding. Sunlight is flooding through his open windows. _Obito._

But it wasn’t Obito. He knows Obito’s eyes because one of them is his own. Three tomoe, narrow, Mangekyou Sharingan with its scythe shape, somewhat lacking in the aristocratic delicacy of the other Uchiha, a fact Rin told him in an attempt to try and make him understand Obito’s well-developed sense of inferiority. It hadn’t worked, but he still remembers it now, crystallized like all his memories of his genin team. 

And then he knows, all of a sudden, he’s absolutely certain who he sensed coming home, who was missing from his ANBU squad all night. His hands are shaking when he summons Pakkun. Or they would be, if he wasn’t an S-ranked ninja who can keep his damn hands still. 

“What’s got you all shaken up?” Pakkun asks. Kakashi sighs. So much for hiding his emotions. His dog grunts, scrabbling up onto the bed beside him with what looks like extreme effort.

“Jesus,” says Kakashi. “Aren’t you supposed to be a ninja?”

“I don’t see you complaining about my skills in the field,” says Pakkun with dignity. “Then it’s just ‘Pakkun, run to Suna for me! Pakkun, take out these S-ranked missing nin for me! Pakkun, run back to the Hokage with this intel and four Kiri nin on your tail!’” 

Kakashi’s laughing. Pakkun can always, always make him laugh. “I have never made you take out an S-ranked missing nin for me!”

“And after watching me climb on the bed, you never will,” says Pakkun, putting his chin on Kakashi’s thigh. “I’m moderating your expectations. It’s best for both of us.”

“You’re getting fat,” Kakashi tells him. “In your old age.”

“Kid,” Pakkun says. “You’re the one that’s aging me. Here you are, summoning me at sunrise. In my twilight years, I need all the rest I can get, but do you let me have it? No, you wake me up and—” 

“It’s Itachi,” Kakashi interrupts. Pakkun goes still. “He was in Konoha last night.”

Pakkun blinks. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t realize who it was till I called you. I didn’t recognize his chakra.”

He can almost hear Pakkun thinking, working through possibilities. There are ANBU stationed around the Uchiha compound 24/7, to protect Sasuke if Itachi tries to come back for his little brother. And while Itachi is certainly capable of evading or taking out multiple ANBU, he wouldn’t be able to do it without alerting the village. He can’t have killed Sasuke or his guards, or ANBU HQ would have sent for Kakashi.

“Spying?” Pakkun wonders aloud. “Is he working for someone else yet?”

“Not to my knowledge,” says Kakashi. “But he’s Itachi. There’s been almost no intel on him since the massacre. If he didn’t want Konoha to know something, we wouldn’t.” 

Pakkun hums thoughtfully. “I can’t imagine he’d bother to spy, though. He already knew everything as an ANBU Captain that he’d be likely to find out through one night of visiting home. Not much has changed since he left.”

“So what, then?” Kakashi says impatiently. “To see someone?” It is, of course, possible that there is someone in the village on Itachi’s side. But it doesn’t make sense, not really, not when the massacre had been so thoroughly an Uchiha affair. Sure, probably a number of the more suspicious shinobi, or maybe the Hyuuga, or really anyone who blamed the Uchiha clan for the Kyuubi attack might have sympathized with the massacre. 

But Itachi had been poised to become the next clan head. Since Shisui’s death, he was the pride of the Uchiha. It would be hard to believe that he had conspired with the segment of the village that mistrusted his clan, when he was so thoroughly of the Uchiha. Plenty of shinobi had ostracized and outright hated the clan, but to approach the future clan head, the most powerful living Uchiha, a shinobi who had made ANBU Captain at thirteen, with that sentiment? It would have been an insane gamble.

“There’s no way,” Pakkun agrees. Kakashi can feel the shape of his thoughts along the mental link they share, reaching the same conclusion. “No one in Konoha would have dared. He was too dangerous.”

“Unless he recruited someone to help him,” Kakashi points out, but Pakkun is already shaking his head. 

“Who? That kid was weird as hell. He had no friends. Who was he talking to right before the massacre? You, the rest of Team Ro, his family? You were with him almost constantly in the last couple months. Who would he have even gone to?”

“And he’s Itachi,” Kakashi says. “He wouldn’t have wanted a partner.”

“Exactly,” says Pakkun. “He took the damn Chuunin Exams alone, and he asks for help from someone to slaughter his family? It doesn’t make sense.”

“None of it makes _sense!_ ” Kakashi runs a hand through his hair. “The _massacre_ doesn’t make sense either! I still don’t understand it, and I worked with him for almost a year. None of it makes sense.”

Itachi had been incredibly powerful, definitely weird as hell, but a good shinobi. He was only thirteen, but Kakashi had joined ANBU at thirteen too, and he knew he’d been strange and awkward too. He had still trusted Itachi almost instinctually to watch his back. Itachi was measured, clinical, externally almost always calm. Kakashi still, months later, finds it impossible to picture the unhinged slaughter of every single Uchiha from his quiet teammate. 

The testimony Itachi’s little brother had given to the Hokage had clarified nothing. Kakashi had been there, in uniform. He remembers, with the painful clarity of the Sharingan, how Sasuke had been too small for his feet to touch the floor. How he had sat, completely expressionless, kicking his legs while the Hokage waited for him to answer. He had said, in a tightly controlled voice, that Itachi had killed his clan to test his own abilities. That Itachi had told his little brother to kill him, to avenge the Uchiha. To hate him.

Kakashi had followed him out of the Hokage tower after the interview, curious. As soon as he left the building, Sasuke had turned into an alley and cried, gasping, desperate sobs that left his small chest heaving. Kakashi had crouched on the rooftop above, aching for Sasuke’s loss and his own loss and with one corner of his brain, thinking that Obito would have felt this same grief and betrayal both after Rin’s death and now. And Sasuke had clenched his (seven-year-old) fists, squared his shoulders, and gone home. Kakashi had remained crouched on the rooftop, staring numbly at Minato-sensei’s stone face until the stiffness of his knees roused him. 

Pakkun is following his train of thought. “Leaving Sasuke alive doesn’t make sense either. Sasuke said Itachi told him he wasn’t worth killing. But Itachi killed civilians, and Uchiha without Sharingan, and other children. All innocent, not even opponents for him.”

“Okay, so he lied to Sasuke,” Kakashi says. “I buy that, from a guy that just killed his parents. But why did he really spare him?”

Pakkun looks at him. “I know what you’re thinking. I can’t think of anything else either.”

“But if Itachi still loves Sasuke, or cares about him enough to not murder him, then why kill the kid’s entire family? How is that love?”

“And he tortured him, too,” Pakkun points out. “Sasuke said he put him in a genjutsu, and made him watch it over and over. That’s cruel.”

“That’s not Itachi,” Kakashi counters. “I never saw him be cruel, ever. Brutal, yes. Sadistic like that, no. He was too calculated.” He taps his finger on his thigh, trying to sort through his thoughts.

“Okay, say it was calculated. We still need a why.”

“Why, why why why,” Kakashi singsongs under his breath. “Why did he do it? Any of it?”

“Unless he really did just snap,” his dog suggests. 

“I still can’t see that,” Kakashi muses. “But I don’t know. Kid saw a lot of shit. It’s not impossible.” He’s going to go further, argue that he’s seen more shit than Itachi and hasn’t murdered anyone. But on second thought, redirecting the conversation toward his own mental state is not what he wants. Kurenai’s already accused him of throwing his life away, whatever that means, and he doesn’t need a lecture from Pakkun too. 

The pug sends him a flat look, sensing his thoughts. Kakashi wrenches Itachi to the forefront of his mind. Pakkun rolls his eyes. 

“Fine. Say he didn’t snap. Say it was in character. Why torture the kid brother? Why tell him to get his revenge on you?”

“Because you weren’t sadistic enough to kill him in cold blood, but you still want to defeat him? Because you want to fuck with his mind? Because you want him to hate you?”

“Maybe,” says Pakkun slowly, “maybe he didn’t lie to Sasuke. Maybe he does want him to avenge the Uchiha. Maybe he wants Sasuke to hate him.”

“But if he wants him to avenge the Uchiha, if he thinks they’re worthy of avenging, then he could have just not massacred them in the first place.”

“Damn it, Itachi,” says Pakkun. “We’re at square one. There’s still something we’re missing.”

Kakashi flops back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The shock of Itachi’s actions, immediately afterward, had stopped him from really thinking about it. The grief of losing yet another comrade, albeit to treachery rather than death, had sunk into him again. And he’d dealt with it, or been able to shove it aside, mostly because of the suddenly constant missions he’d been sent on. These few days of mandatory medical leave right now, he realizes suddenly, is the longest he’s been in Konoha since Itachi left. 

In his head, he keeps coming back to how small Itachi was the last time he saw him. Still a child, a slight, slender, delicate framed child who had not yet hit his growth spurt. A head and a half shorter than everyone else in ANBU, seventy pounds lighter than Kakashi. Shoulders too narrow for the regular ANBU armor, slight enough that as his CO, Kakashi had had to put in a special request for custom armor. Thirteen years old. Smaller even than Tenzo. 

“Kid,” Pakkun says softly. “He still did it. Even if we don’t know why. He still did what he did.” 

“I know that.” Kakashi shuts his eye. “I know.” 

He was there, on Team Ro, brought with the Sandaime Hokage to the Uchiha compound the night of the massacre. He is a Sharingan user. He remembers, will always remember, the stench of death and pain in the deserted streets. Bodies tossed to the side like so much trash, blood streaking the walls and the ground. He remembers comprehending, suddenly, the difference between a battle and a slaughter. The silence was an old one, not the absence of noise but the suffocation of it. He found Sasuke’s still body in the street, had checked for a pulse automatically, not expecting to find one. Had realized, with a dawning horror, that the kid’s heart was still beating determinedly. That in the middle of all this death, the slaughter of every single one of the kid’s relatives, Sasuke was alive, and completely alone. 

Sasuke had looked so much like Itachi then. A younger version, without the lines of war carved into his face. And Kakashi had realized that he would have to live the rest of his life alone, knew that realization intimately, and hoped against hope that Itachi had survived the slaughter.

But the Sandaime knew by then. He had called Team Ro to his office and said, “Uchiha district. Now.” And they had gone, and the Sandaime had stood in the midst of all the carnage and said to Yugao, “Uchiha Itachi is to be reclassified as an S-rank missing nin.”

Yugao had shot a glance at Kakashi, brow furrowed. “Hokage-sama. We have yet to identify every body. Itachi may have been killed as well.”

But they hadn’t found Itachi among the dead. The Sandaime had not seemed surprised, only older and wearier than ever. Reeling with shock, Kakashi had gone to the files himself and reclassified _operative: Uchiha Itachi, age 13. Rank: ANBU Captain. Specialties: Assassination, Stealth, Close to Mid-Range Battle, Genjutsu. Notes: Possesses Mangekyou Sharingan_ as _Missing Nin: Uchiha Itachi. Rank: S. Affiliation: Unknown. Designated: Flee On Sight for all active Konohagakure operatives._

They had been forbidden from tracking Itachi, to bring him back or to kill him. With the loss of every Uchiha, their entire police force, the village was weakened enough that it was not worth the risk of sending shinobi out after him. Kakashi assumes that at some point, they’ll be sent to hunt him down. Konoha doesn’t have an official hunter nin division, because defection has never been so large-scale like in the height of Kirigakure’s Bloody Mist era, but the elite ANBU are still tasked with killing missing nin. That means Team Ro, and it especially means Hatake Kakashi.

He opens his eye again. “What do I do, Pakkun?”

Pakkun grunts. “About what?”

“All of it,” Kakashi says. “I don’t know what to do with any of it.” He grits his teeth, and shoves the next words out before he can think too hard. “Itachi—it was my fault. I should have watched him. I know what being thirteen in ANBU is like. I should have paid more attention.”

“Kakashi,” says Pakkun. “You can’t blame yourself for every tragedy that happens in this world. Itachi’s actions are not your burden to bear.”

“But they only happen to the people I love,” Kakashi says, and his voice breaks, just a little bit. He swallows hard. “My mother. My father. Obito. Rin. Minato. Kushina—” His mother died in childbirth, bringing him into this world. His father, so ashamed and alone that to him life was not worth living even for Kakashi. Obito, who had made him into a better man at the cost of his own life. Rin, whose blood he still can feel on his hand. Minato and Kushina, larger than life in their vibrancy, his charges to protect, and he has failed them all. And Itachi, losing his grip in the depths of ANBU, his own CO too blinded to see it. “What do I do, Pakkun?”

Pakkun climbs up onto his chest, curls up right beneath his chin. His heart is beating against Kakashi’s throat, a quick tattoo through his warm fur. Kakashi raises an absent hand to scritch behind his ears. 

“I don’t know,” his dog says eventually. “But I think you should ask the Hokage how he knew.”

“Knew what?”

“To go to the Uchiha compound the night of the massacre. And to mark Itachi missing before you finished searching for him. How did he know?”


	2. Turns Out Shit Was Fucked Up the Whole Time

He receives a message from the Hokage the next day. A very small genin arrives at his door, hitai-ate painstakingly clean and displayed prominently across her brow. She bows, proffering a scroll in outstretched hands. 

“What is it,” Kakashi says. The genin visibly flinches. He sighs internally. Dealing with children was exhausting enough when he actually was a child. It’s even worse now that he has an established reputation for murdering his teammates. They’re all terrified of him.

“It’s from the Hokage, sir,” she squeaks eventually. “Summons, sir. I don’t know when, sir.” She’s sneaking glances up at him from under her bowed head. Every muscle in her body is tensed. The effort that it takes to not roll his eye is physically painful, but he manages. 

“Fine,” he says, and plucks the paper from her hand. “Thank you.” 

She stares at him, eyes huge. Gods. This kid is a whole ninja? Legally an adult? Kakashi would have thought that after the war they could afford to stop graduating the idiots who clearly couldn’t handle being shinobi, but apparently not. 

“You can leave now,” he tells her helpfully. 

She frowns and squares her shoulders. “You didn’t tip me.”

Fucking genin. Too scared to actually look at him, but bold enough to ask for her tip. Kakashi barely remembers being a genin, but he knows he wouldn’t have pulled this crap. 

Whatever. Genin make hardly anything. For all he knows, she’s relying on tips for her survival. Rin was, for a little while before Minato-sensei found out. Orphans slip through the cracks sometimes in Konoha. He digs out a twenty and forks it over without protest. 

The genin bows again, deeper, says cheerfully, “Thank you, ANBU-san!” and bestows a wide grin upon him, any trace of her earlier nerves vanished. Kakashi shuts the door behind her, nonplussed. Little shit. Maybe she does have potential as a ninja. 

He unrolls the scroll. The Hokage’s seal is at the top of the page. Below, it reads:

MEMORANDUM TO ANBU: HOUND-19368. 

SUBJECT: Report to High Command 0900h.

Beneath it, someone has scrawled “expect EOO.” Translation: extended operation orders. He should pack for a long journey. Typical. 

Luckily, Kakashi owns basically nothing and never spends any time in Konoha anyway, so it’s only a few minutes’ work to throw some extra underwear, a canteen, and a few kunai into the go bag in his closet. Most of his weapons are in his ANBU locker, and they’ll give him whatever rations and funds he needs before he heads out. 

A shunshin later and the Sandaime is in front of him, pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. His eyes crinkle into a smile at Kakashi’s arrival. 

“Hound,” he greets Kakashi. “Thank you for coming. I have orders.”

It’s these little niceties that set the Sandaime apart as a shinobi and as a Hokage; he doesn’t need to thank Kakashi for following orders, or even give Kakashi his missions in person. He embodies a kindness and an intimacy with every single one of his shinobi. Even the youngest Academy students are familiar with him, and he makes it a point to know every one of them by name, civilian and ninja families alike. 

Kakashi usually appreciates this small show of warmth, rare enough in the military world he inhabits, but in the wake of his conversation with Pakkun, he looks at the Sandaime’s face and thinks, you should have done more. Here is the Hokage, one of the five most powerful people on the Continent, and he could not protect his own village from themselves, and he has the audacity to smile at Kakashi like his appearance is something good. To thank him for coming, as if he could disobey a direct order from the Hokage, before he sends Kakashi out to bloody his hands yet again in the name of Konohagakure no Sato. It’s too much right now for Kakashi to stomach, so he says nothing, inclines his head respectfully and waits. 

The Sandaime removes his pipe from the corner of his mouth. “Something on your mind, Hound?”

Before he can think better of it, Kakashi says, “I was wondering, sir.”

The Sandaime waves a hand for him to continue. “I was wondering about tracking Uchiha Itachi. It has been six months since the incident. Surely Konoha is strong enough to send out hunters after him by now, sir.”

The Hokage doesn’t react, not outwardly, but Kakashi can feel his attention sharpen. He takes another inhale of his pipe, lets the smoke billow outward from his mouth before responding. Kakashi resists the urge to shift his weight. His suggestion was borderline insubordinate; questioning the advisability of the Hokage’s orders, or lack thereof, is to imply that he knows better than the Hokage himself. The Sandaime is forgiving, but he is still Shinobi no Kami, strong enough to take out Kakashi without breaking a sweat. 

The Sandaime says in a level voice, “Unfortunately, ANBU, that is not the mission that I have for you at this time. I ask that you trust me with regards to the Uchiha matter.” His tone makes it clear he is not asking. 

Kakashi notes instantly the change of address from his ANBU codename to his rank. The Sandaime is reminding him of his place; it’s a rebuke. Uncharacteristically quick to anger from the old man. Kakashi narrows his eye. 

He’s not suicidal enough to defy his Hokage to his face, however, no matter how kind the Sandaime might be. “Yes, sir. I apologize.” 

The Sandaime nods briefly, fingers drumming on the desk. Kakashi continues, “I would like to report, sir, that I sensed Uchiha Itachi’s chakra in Konoha the night before last.”

That gets a reaction. The Sandaime actually puts down his pipe and looks Kakashi full in the face. “The night before last? Why am I only hearing of this now?” His voice is still neutral, but Kakashi can feel the swell of his chakra, steaming with irritation and something else Kakashi can’t identify. 

“I was coming home from the bars, sir. I was not sure whether my report would be deemed reliable or necessary. Another shinobi on duty may have sensed Itachi and reported it.”

“But you are certain that is who you sensed?” the Sandaime presses him. Kakashi nods, although he’s not. In hindsight, it was definitely Itachi’s chakra. But Itachi was an ANBU Captain, and Kakashi is not a sensor. He should not have been able to feel Itachi’s presence unless Itachi wanted him to.

The Sandaime blinks. “Thank you for your report, ANBU. I will consider its implications.” Still ANBU, not Hound. The Sandaime is keeping him at a deliberate distance. “Here is the information for your mission today. As this is a longer assignment, I am giving you four hours to before you leave. I expect you back here at 1300 hours. Dismissed.” No pleasantries. Kakashi needs to tread carefully. 

He takes the proffered scroll, bows again, and leaves the room silently. He turns into a shunshin and stumbles out into a park halfway across the village. He’s breathing hard, still on tense alert. The Sandaime was angry in a way Kakashi hasn’t seen in years, since the earliest days of the war.

One thing is clear to him: there is something the Sandaime does not want him to know. Kakashi is the highest ranked ANBU Lieutenant. He is fourth in the Village chain of command, below only Morino Ibiki, ANBU Commander, Nara Shikaku, Jounin Commander, and the Hokage himself. He has the highest possible security clearance Konoha has; the only information restricted from him is because he is a field agent, and a field agent under interrogation cannot divulge what they do not know. Even then, he is aware of what’s omitted from his knowledge, and sees the logic behind it.

But this feels different. The Sandaime had reacted too defensively for it to be tactical omission of information. There is something he’s hiding. Kakashi is sure of it.

His discussion with Pakkun is echoing in his mind. All their unanswered questions about Itachi, why kill the clan, why spare Sasuke, why torture Sasuke, why tell him to avenge the Uchiha, why come back to Konoha for a night and leave no trace, why not track him down like every other missing-nin, why the Sandaime’s out-of-proportion anger, and it’s clear to Kakashi. He needs to look at the Uchiha massacre files, or he needs to talk to Itachi. 

Well, he’s got four hours before he has to leave, and the report is both a lot closer and a lot less deadly than Uchiha Itachi himself. No choice at all, really. Kakashi steps into another shunshin, and emerges back at High Command.

—

The second and third floors of High Command, right below the Hokage’s part of the tower, are entirely devoted to records and files. With the right security clearance, there are profiles on every active and past Konoha shinobi, records of almost every single recorded Konoha mission, tactical reports from the most recent war, and profiles of nearly every enemy combatant faced by Konoha ninja since the days of Senju Hashirama, including kekkei genkai, specialized jutsu techniques, and summons. It’s a completely overwhelming morass of information, cross-referenced and organized in a hundred different ways depending on what you’re looking for.

Most shinobi don’t bother, because the relevant information is put in mission briefings and finding anything in the records floors is a nightmare. Kakashi fucking hates combing through the dusty, mostly useless information, but he’s tactically obsessive enough that he won’t pass up this much free intel simply because it’s boring. And it is boring as all fuck. But he realized several years ago that duh, the Sharingan gives him a photographic memory, so he tends to wander using Obito’s eye to store the info for later. This has cut down significantly on the time it takes him to find whatever file he’s looking for.

Today, he beelines for the personnel files. There should be files on Itachi in the Former Konoha Nin section, organized chronologically since the beginning of Konoha, and cross-labeled as KIA (a whole row of files), MISSING (a much smaller shelf), DISABLED (again, a disturbingly huge amount of folders) or RETIRED (very few files. Kakashi already knows his won’t be one of them).

He finds Itachi’s folder in the U section of the MISSING NIN shelf. It’s a slender, perfunctory sheet, noting only Itachi’s age, physical description, possession of Sharingan, and that he defected after slaughtering the Uchiha Clan. The fine print at the bottom notes that as he is a dangerous missing-nin, information on Itachi has been classified, and Kakashi can see the reference librarian for further questions. 

Well, fine. He expected as much. He’s got clearance, and he sure as hell has further questions.

“You don’t have clearance,” the reference librarian, a middle-aged chuunin with a somber expression, says apologetically. Kakashi blinks at him.

“What?” He’s not trying to be intimidating, but enough startled irritation must creep into his tone that the chuunin flinches slightly. “What do you mean, I don’t have clearance? I am an ANBU Lieutenant. Check again.”

The librarian grimaces, but says, “Yes, sir.” 

Squinting at Kakashi’s dog tags, he types the number into his computer. It makes a clearly negative beep. 

Kakashi almost growls aloud in frustration, then remembers he’s in public and settles for clenching his teeth very hard beneath his mask. He gets full dental coverage as part of his ANBU healthcare package, he can afford to grit his teeth a little. Okay, a lot. It’s the only emotional expression that reveals nothing, thanks to the mask. 

“Fine,” he says to the librarian. “What can you get me on the Uchiha massacre? Beyond the basic report.”

The chuunin is shaking his head before he even finishes the sentence. “Sir, almost all information surrounding that event and its… perpetrator has been classified to the highest level. Accessible only to the Hokage and the Council. I don’t even know where they keep those files.”

The _Council?_ What the fuck? The Council barely even takes a role in Konoha military business. Their main job, as far as Kakashi can tell, is to question the Hokage’s decisions without offering anything constructive.

Well, if he hadn’t already been sure that there was something they were hiding from him, he sure as hell is now. The Council is not even in the chain of command. They are not privy to all the military intel that the Village runs on. There is no plausible reason to grant them access to a document this sensitive. But unlike this nice chuunin, Kakashi knows where they keep the files. He helped the Sandaime construct the seals. 

Unfortunately, there’s no way he’s getting in that room. He’s a good fuinjutsu student, because Kushina taught him, but the Sandaime is ten times better than him. Getting past whatever barrier the Sandaime put on the door is going to be impossible. And there’s absolutely a guard posted through whatever entrance they left unsealed.

But he could at least try. Even if it’s a little bit suicidal. He’s too curious not to go check it out.

Which is how he ends up in the ceiling of the East wing of the tower, staring down at the ANBU on duty outside the Hokage’s sealed private room. The universe has blessed him for once. The ANBU is Tenzo.

Kakashi drops out of the ceiling right behind him. “Hey, buddy.”

Tenzo doesn’t even react. He’s no fun at all. “Kakashi-senpai. What are you doing here?”

Used to deciphering Tenzo’s mood through the toneless overlay of his ROOT training, it’s easy for Kakashi to detect the wariness in his voice. He goes for the blunt truth. 

“I need into this room.”

“No can do,” Tenzo says, the phrase awkward in his mouth. “Hokage-sama’s orders. No one in or out.”

He knew, then. The Sandaime knew he’d come here. But why, out of all the dozens of ANBU that don’t know Kakashi or actively dislike him, would he put Tenzo on guard?

“Tenzo,” he says, “it’s important. It’s about Itachi.”

Tenzo’s mask stares blankly at him. “I really can’t, Kakashi-senpai. Please stop asking me.”

“Look,” Kakashi hisses into his ear. “I don’t think the Uchiha massacre happened the way we think it did. The Hokage is deliberately keeping it from me. Only he and the Council have access to the reports. You don’t think that’s—”

Tenzo stiffens. “The Council?”

Oh, fuck. Danzo. How did he forget about fucking Danzo? He must be concussed. His suspicion ratchets up yet another notch.

Danzo ordered him to kill the Sandaime, kidnapped and brainwashed Tenzo, nearly had Tenzo kill Kakashi. And somehow he’s still on the Council, and still has special access to the Uchiha files. Holy hell.

“The Council has special access?” Tenzo asks again. “Why?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Kakashi grits out. “How much do you trust our leaders?”

Tenzo hesitates for a minute. Kakashi holds his breath. And then Tenzo steps aside, and says, voice tense, “I am going to make a round. It will take me four minutes. The door is only locked, no seals.”

Kakashi is so proud of him. A lifetime in ROOT, barely a year out of it, and he’s already breaking rules and preparing an alibi for himself. They grow up so fast. 

Tenzo vanishes down the hallway, and Kakashi steps into the room. He’s never seen it before; it’s smaller than he would have thought, and not all papers either. There’s an antique sword, still glowing with chakra, that he makes a wide berth around, an entire shelf labeled OROCHIMARU, cluttered with a mix of files, glass bottles, and shed snakeskin. Kakashi avoids that too. 

A bottom drawer of the filing cabinet at the far end of the room is helpfully labeled UCHIHA. Kakashi yanks it open. There’s a cardboard box, the kind T&I uses to store evidence, with UCHIHA MADARA in neat block Sharpie lettering. It looks as if it’s been here for decades, and Kakashi wonders fleetingly if the Shodaime himself assembled it after Madara’s betrayal, or maybe the Nidaime. 

But he only has a few minutes, so he pulls out the thick manila folder in the very front of the drawer. It’s labeled only with the date of the massacre.

Inside is the report from the Uchiha compound. Kakashi skims the tally of dead Uchiha—he was there in person, he can still see them in his mind’s eye—and looks at the summary of events. It’s written in standard ANBU reporting style, but he doesn’t recognize the handwriting, and it’s not labeled with an operative’s codename like the ANBU reports he writes. Not by a member of Team Ro, then.

It reads:

SUMMARY: 

1) Uchiha Clan (Clan Head Uchiha Fugaku) found to be planning coup against Konohagakure no Sato leadership.  
2) Prevention of planned coup assigned to ANBU: WEASEL-19575 by CO: Councilman Shimura Danzo. Further instructions: No quarter given.   
3) Mission completed by ANBU: WEASEL-19575. Uchiha Clan threat eliminated. Noncombatant: Uchiha Sasuke not eliminated.   
4) ANBU: WEASEL-19575 to be reclassified as S-RANK MISSING NIN.  
5) Successful elimination of threat: Uchiha Clan. No further action required. 

It’s signed at the bottom by CO: Shimura Danzo and stamped with the Sandaime’s official seal.

Kakashi puts the paper down. His hands are trembling.

No quarter given. No prisoners taken. Every enemy combatant to be killed, even if they surrender. He hasn’t seen that order since the war. And to be used on not enemy combatants, but citizens of Konoha—

Itachi was ordered to kill them.

Everything slots into place with alarming clarity. Why kill the Uchiha Clan? On orders, to prevent a coup. Out of loyalty to Konoha. Why not track Itachi? He did not betray Konohagakure. Why the Sandaime’s anger this morning—and Kakashi realizes what else was boiling the Hokage’s chakra when he asked about Itachi, guilt and anger making him defensive over a massacre that he put his official seal on.

Fury crawls up into his throat, vicious and sudden. Itachi had already fought a war for Konohagakure at this point, and they had the audacity to use him like this. A pawn to carry out their dirty work, and a child. A child who at the age of thirteen, was already a Captain in the fucking black ops. They ordered Itachi to kill his own family.

Kakashi knows his own record is far from clean, that the things they do in the name of Konoha are far from being technically ethical. They are shinobi; their entire job is to carry out violence. But the shinobi system is built for that. They fight other ninja, samurai, assassinate political figures; they are the weapons of the great countries so that no nation needs to raise an army. Shinobi kill other shinobi to keep countries from slaughtering civilians and razing whole lands in warfare. Kakashi has long since accepted this. He bloodies his hands to keep the people of Fire Country and Konoha safe. 

But not against civilians, and never, ever, against Konoha civilians. There were Uchiha children killed, and Uchiha grandparents. Only two-thirds of the clan were even trained shinobi; some of them were just ordinary people.

He realizes he’s crumpling the paper in his hands, and forces himself to unclench his grip. He takes a deep, shuddering breath.

What is the point? He has spent eight years existing in this ANBU shadow world. His Sharingan has recorded in crystal clarity the ever-growing list of kills that he has made. He has more blood on his hands than he would ever have thought possible, dripping with it, choking on it. And he has done it all willingly, because beneath the blood of Konoha’s enemies is the blood of Rin, Obito, Minato-sensei, Kushina, and their deaths are easier to bear if he can put his hands toward the good of the village they all loved. Atonement, absolution, and somewhere, always, the vague hope that someday someone stronger will come along and end his weary existence. But what was the _point,_ if all of this death he has dealt out was for the good of a village that made Itachi murder his own family?

“Kakashi,” a voice says behind him, and he’s jolted out of his thoughts. A rookie mistake, ignoring his surroundings like that, but he’s still reeling from those five lines on the mission report. Itachi was ordered to murder his family. 

The Sandaime’s chakra is in the doorway. Kakashi’s heartbeat is so loud he can hear the blood pounding through his ears. He stands up, and turns around. 

“Kakashi,” the Sandaime says. 

Kakashi cuts him off. He’s so angry he can hardly find the words. “What the _fuck,_ ” he grits out, “is this?” He holds out the paper for the Sandaime to take.

The old man doesn’t take it. His pipe is gone, hands folded into his sleeves. “You found the report,” he observes. “I thought you would.”

“How dare you?” says Kakashi, voice shaking, incoherent with the force of his rage. “You—you stand there, and Itachi—”

“Itachi,” the Sandaime says quietly, “accepted his mission. He did not want other nations to invade a weakened Konoha. He did not want a war.”

“He was a child,” Kakashi hisses. “He did not want a war because he had already fought in one war!”

“He is a shinobi,” the old man says in the same calm tone. “He did his duty. You were his age in a war, and you did your duty.”

Kakashi knows, on a logical level, that the Sandaime is right. He and Itachi are shinobi; they kill people. It’s simple fact, one plus one equals two. But this feels different; when he imagines Itachi being given the orders to kill the Uchiha, when he imagines him bringing down a sword on his own parents, the irredeemable wrongness of it lodges itself in his stomach.

“No child,” Kakashi says, “should have to kill their parents. Shinobi or not. How can you have ordered him to do that?

The Sandaime looks him in the eye. “Should Danzo have given you the mission instead?”

Kakashi thinks about that one for only a moment. If Danzo had ordered him to kill the Uchiha to prevent a coup…

“Yes,” he says, and is surprised by how much he means it. “Better me than him.”

He would have hated himself for it, but he would have done it. And he would have spared Itachi the pain of killing every relative he had. Itachi, despite being a weirdo and a loner, had had a loving family, a little brother who adored him, people who counted on him. Kakashi has no one in the village; becoming a missing nin would have been far less painful for him. And what’s a few more bodies on his conscience, after all these years? He would have done it, and he dislikes the certainty of that knowledge, but he would have done it.

The Sandaime sighs, looking tired suddenly. “Minato would never have forgiven me, Kakashi. I did not give the order, but I would not have given it to you.”

“Minato-sensei is dead,” Kakashi says coldly. Stupid, self-sacrificing, noble Minato-sensei would have been angry if Kakashi had slaughtered the Uchiha, but he could hardly have blamed his student for following his example. He had died for Konoha and for his son’s sake; Kakashi could have killed for Konoha and for his teammate’s sake. “It doesn’t matter,” he tells the Hokage. “You did that to Itachi. You and Danzo.”

Kakashi looks down at the paper in his hands, and sees those words again: No quarter given. Mission completed by ANBU: WEASEL-19575. Itachi, ordered to leave no survivors. Potent rage boils up again in his stomach.

“I’m going after him,” he says. “I’m going to find Itachi.”

“Be careful, Kakashi,” the Sandaime warns. “You are Konoha shinobi. I have already said that we will not track Uchiha Itachi.” His chakra swells, threatening. 

Kakashi is coiled so tense his thighs are aching with the strain of it. “You—I have killed for Konoha for years—willingly, because I thought it was keeping the people of Konoha safe—and you had them massacred!”

“They were planning a coup,” Sandaime says. “Which, whether or not it would have succeeded, would have killed people too. And could have led to war. Which is what most of your assassination missions were for, too—the prevention of war. Do not lecture me about keeping Konoha safe.”

“What is the point,” Kakashi asks slowly, “of preventing a war if the body count is the same?”

He puts the paper back into the manila folder and shoves the drawer closed on the history of the Uchiha clan. The Sandaime watches him silently. 

Kakashi turns toward the doorway.

“I will have to classify you as a missing-nin,” the Sandaime tells him.

“Do that then,” says Kakashi. In this moment, the mission report and Itachi’s young face swimming before his eyes, he can’t bring himself to care about any more than finding the kid.

“Kakashi,” the Sandaime says. “Minato died to protect this village—” 

“We’ll never know what Minato-sensei would say, because he’s dead,” Kakashi growls. “I’ve been on my own for a long time now, Sandaime-sama. I’m not killing for a village that murders its own people. I’m going to find that kid, who must be fucked up in the head from what he’s been through. And you won’t track me, or chase me, because then you’d have to track Itachi too, and you’re not going to waste perfectly good soldiers trying to kill your two best ANBU. So you can either kill me yourself right here and now, or you can let me go find a thirteen-year-old who’s a wanted criminal because of _your_ orders.”

He pushes up his hitai-ate and stares with both eyes directly into the Sandaime’s face. It strikes him, suddenly, how tiny the old man is, over a head shorter than Kakashi, and how aged he looks. Kakashi recognizes, intimately, the weariness painted stark on the old man’s face, but he can’t muster any sympathy for him. Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Sandaime Hokage, who allowed a child of his own village to orphan his little brother.

There’s a moment of silence, and then the Sandaime says, every decade of his life heavy in his voice, “I am not going to kill you here, Kakashi. Do you really think that of me?”

Kakashi doesn’t, not really, which is kind of why he said it. He doesn’t point this out to the Hokage. He dips his head once, and walks out of the room. 

Tenzo is hovering in the hallway, mask pushed over his head. 

“I was eavesdropping,” he says hurriedly before Kakashi can comment. “You’re leaving?”

“Right now,” says Kakashi. “Coming?”

Tenzo bites his lip nervously. “I—no.”

Kakashi nods. He can’t really expect Tenzo to uproot his newly discovered life and become a missing nin just because Kakashi is. And it’s not really his fight; Danzo already did a number on him. For Tenzo, the reality of Konoha is still better than the decade he spent in ROOT. And he is brave, but Kakashi knows he still fears Danzo, even if he can’t talk about it. Asking him to leave Konoha in defiance of Danzo’s orders would be unfair.

“Be careful, Kakashi-senpai,” Tenzo tells him, dark eyes huge and earnest. “Here.” Wood sprouts from his palm, forming into two curved pieces the length of Kakashi’s forearm. They’re patterned with Tenzo’s usual swirls. “For you. Because you always lose your arm guards. It’s ash—it should be light but it won’t break.”

Kakashi takes the armor, crinkling his eye in a smile. He puts his hand on Tenzo’s shoulder. “Thank you. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Tenzo frowns seriously. “I feel like there is not much that you wouldn’t do, Kakashi-senpai.”

Kakashi, already stepping into a shunshin, has to crack a smile at that, but he’s gone too quickly to rib Tenzo in return.

—

It doesn’t hit him for a full 24 hours, what he’s done. He’s at the very edge of Fire Country, by where the borders of Amegakure territory and the Land of Rivers meet. He picked the closest possible border, because he wasn’t sure if the Hokage would change his mind and send hunters after him. He doesn’t need any more of his comrades’ blood on his hands. Ex-comrades. Whatever.

“Oh, shit,” he says aloud, and sits down on a rock. “I just defected from Konoha.” 

He summons his entire pack in an instant, ignoring the inadvisability of using chakra so blatantly in enemy territory. Which is what Fire Country is now. Oh, shit. 

“Hey, boss,” says Pakkun. “Where are we?”

The rest of the pack is all around him, wet noses poking at every inch of his body. Akino makes a whuffling noise at Kakashi’s sweet new arm guards, and then sneezes so hard his sunglasses fall off. Guruko cackles delightedly, long ears flopping around. Bull tries to climb into Kakashi’s lap, trampling Urushi underfoot. The forest suddenly feels a lot less like enemy territory and a lot more like home.

“All right, settle down, you’re supposed to be ninjas,” Kakashi tells them amiably. “We’re on the edge of Fire, Ame, and River.”

“Are we on a mission?!” Urushi says, muffled from underneath Bull’s massive paw. There’s a rustling noise, and his head pops up, tongue lolling sideways out of his mouth. The hair on top of his head is completely flattened. “I haven’t been on a mission in forever, boss.”

“It’s been like two weeks since we were in Iwa, idiot,” says Shiba, condescension dripping off every syllable. Kakashi rolls his eye conspiratorially at Urushi, who pants back agreeably.

“So what’s up, boss?” Guruko asks, giving Kakashi puppy eyes.

Kakashi says bluntly, “I’ve left Konoha.”

Guruko’s tail stops thumping the ground. “You what now?”

Kakashi doesn’t want to verbally detail everything that he’s done in the past few days, so he shuts his eyes and reaches out mentally for his dogs. They can watch his memory, or skim enough of it to understand why he’s here.

“Well, all right then,” says Akino after a moment. “You want to find Itachi? Need a good nose?” He shoves his into Kakashi’s neck.

Kakashi is so, so glad he has dog summons. No judgment, no disbelief. They’re so loyal and trusting it makes his chest tighten, and he rubs a fond hand over Akino’s fuzzy head.

“You remember his scent?” he asks. 

Shiba sends him a flat look. “You kidding, boss?”

“Crows! Blood! Rice flour! Uchiha!” Urushi yaps. Bull raises one hefty paw and cuffs him across the back of the head. “Ow!”

“Okay,” says Kakashi. “Then let’s find Itachi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, while ash literally rains from the sky around me and the sun is completely blotted out by smoke (this is not an exaggeration): wow i better keep writing my naruto fanfiction!


	3. Konoha's Most Wanted: Reunion!

It takes nearly a month for the dogs to sniff out Itachi’s location, and they don’t even find him. He gets to them first. 

By this point, Kakashi has gone through every stage of grief regarding his new position in the world. After the shock wears off, he realizes he doesn’t have to answer to a CO, doesn’t have to accept a single mission, can spend a whole day just lying on a sun-warmed rock by a river. He’s giddy with the possibilities. Then he gets bored, after only a few hours on the sun-warmed rock, and realizes he has absolutely nothing to do. He hasn’t had this much free time, ever, or at least not since the Academy. Which he graduated when he was all of five, so thinking back to how he spent his free time at age four is not exactly helpful.

At which point, Shiba helpfully informs him that he smells terrible, and Bisuke chimes in sweetly to alert him that his clothes are dirty, and also ugly and unflattering. He’s been bathing as best he can in rivers and streams, but there’s a certain grime that only comes off with a real bath. The clothes thing, according to Bisuke, is a problem unrelated to his newly minted missing-nin status. Apparently, it’s been a consistent issue for as long as Bisuke has known him. Kakashi tells him kindly to shut up after that comment, and sends him on a wide-ranging patrol of the nearby grassland in retaliation.

But both dogs have a point, so Kakashi goes into the nearest random River Country town, transformed into a forgettable man with dark hair and one brown eye. The other he ties a bandana over, removing his Konoha headband for the first time since he left. He hasn’t put the slash through the leaf symbol yet, and he wonders if he should, how long other missing-nin waited before marking themselves irrevocably as rogue ninja. His dogs, presumably directed by Pakkun, have all stopped wearing their Konoha hitai-ate, but he doesn’t know if they’re stowed somewhere or just thrown away. In the end, he decides to deal with it later, and shoves it to the bottom of his pack.

Being in town is weird; people react to him differently than they do in Konoha. The girl in the clothing store chats amiably with him, flirts a little, and it occurs to Kakashi that if he wanted to, he could flirt back. They could go get a drink after her shift; he could sleep with her, if he wanted to. In Konoha, ninja and civilians are fairly segregated, or they self-segregate. Shinobi tend to be too paranoid to hook up with random civilians, and for any longer-term relationships, the lives they lead are so different, and they spend so much time and energy at work, that they tend to date and marry their own colleagues too. Kakashi, on the rare occasions when he goes looking for sex, prefers at least chuunin-level shinobi, who seem less likely to break than civilians. But then, he’s hardly ever in Konoha anyway, and finding someone to sleep with usually seems like far too much effort to satisfy a need that’s not really all that important.

Here in this clothing shop, with the River Country girl grinning knowingly at him across a rack of shirts, he thinks maybe that could change. But he’s not that far from Konoha land yet, and he kind of really needs a bath and a shave and maybe even dinner that’s not a ration bar or unseasoned game cooked over a fire. So he dips his head, feigning shyness, and buys from her store three pairs of plain black and blue pants, a black haori with green trim and a hood, and four t-shirts. He ditches the ninja sandals in favor of black leather boots, still open-toed, that rise to mid calf.

He takes his bag of clothes, bows when the girl presses his change gently into his palm, and goes and blows the rest of his money on real, actual food and a real, actual bedroom with a bathroom attached. Bliss. 

He emerges the next day both very refreshed and completely broke. ANBU are salaried employees of Konoha, rather than being paid by the mission like the regular forces. As Lieutenant, his salary is substantial, and has been for some years. Unfortunately, most of it is also sitting in his bank account in Konoha Central Bank. Somehow he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to make a withdrawal from a KCB ATM. 

It doesn’t matter, though, because a) he already went and got all his favorite weapons out of his ANBU locker right after leaving the Sandaime’s records room, so he only needs money for food, b) he is a shinobi, and could survive in the wilderness as long as he needed to, c) also due to shinobihood, he could totally steal money and supplies, and d) he could even find some work that’s not ANBU!!!!

After these revelations, Kakashi falls into a pattern. He wanders from village to village, steadily moving further and further from Konoha, avoiding any of the other Hidden Villages. He picks up odd jobs in the towns he visits, fixing roofs, guarding merchants between villages, helping a family haul their belongings to a new house. He chats with the other day laborers as they lean against fences waiting for someone to come by looking for a day’s hire. He invents whatever stories come to his mind for a cover, pretends he’s the exiled son of a huge family, that he’s wandering the land looking for his lost lady love, that his father is sick and he’s earning money for a cure. He doesn’t look like a shinobi anymore, but the sword at his back and the tanto at his hip make him look dangerous enough that most people seem content to take him at face value. He gets paid in money, hot meals, sometimes a night in someone’s house.

The dogs rotate through, never leaving him completely alone. He assumes this is deliberate, but it’s nice to have the company. They bring back updates about their search that are essentially just “no news, boss”, but he has faith in their tracking abilities. Itachi is not an easy man to track. In the meantime, he keeps moving, heading generally southwest, skirting the eastern border of Wind Country and moving further through the Land of Rivers in the direction of Wave.

The country is beautiful, dramatic in a way that Fire Country isn’t. The foothills at the southwestern edge of Fire territory grow into a low mountain range that runs along the River side of the border. Clear, cold water flows out of the mountains and into lush valleys that wind through the land. Further west, closer to Wind Country, the valleys are drier, bare walls of multicolored rock that plummet vertically towards the canyon floor. Kakashi traces the bottoms of these valleys, following the icy streams of snowmelt. He looks up toward the cliff tops at sunset, when the orange light softens the harsh edges, when the outlines of the gnarled trees that cling stubbornly to the cliffside are outlined in stark relief against the painted sky, and breathes the clean, dry air in deep.

He’s climbing out of one such valley, crossing a broad, flat expanse of smooth gray rock, when Uhei materializes out of the treeline to his right, jumps the shallow water flowing down the stone’s middle, and skids to a stop at his side, panting.

All Kakashi’s senses snap to high alert. Uhei is the fastest of his ninken; for him to be in such a desperate, panting hurry is rare.

“Report,” he orders, letting the dog lean against his right leg.

“Itachi,” Uhei gasps out. “Close by. Following you. Pakkun sent me.”

Kakashi narrows his eye, scanning the trees, reaching mentally for the controlled, icy blaze of Itachi’s chakra signature. He senses nothing. The air smells like rock and pine.

A crow caws behind him, and Kakashi whips around to nothing. Fucking Itachi. Maybe he’s planning to ambush Kakashi, but that seems unlikely. The Itachi he knew would have wanted to ask why he was there. On the other hand, this Itachi did massacre his whole clan in an hour. Kakashi lays a hand on his tanto.

“Kakashi,” a familiar voice says from behind him. He turns. Itachi is standing on the rock thirty feet from him, across the clear water.

This Itachi is almost certainly a genjutsu. Kakashi fought with him for two years, long enough to learn his style. But he catalogues the changes in Itachi anyway. Gone are the ANBU blacks and armor, replaced by a high-collared black robe with red clouds. That must be Akatsuki’s uniform, unless someone else is dumb enough to wear red cloud symbols. Itachi is taller, leaner, his face slenderer than Kakashi remembers. The weary lines of his face have deepened, but it only adds to his remote beauty. Itachi has always possessed an elegance Obito would have envied: the aristocratic grace of the Uchiha compounded by an unblemished perfection born of Itachi’s untouchability in battle. Kakashi has hardly ever seen him injured, and rarely ruffled.

“Itachi,” he says, looking his former teammate in the eye. He’s not here to be a threat. “You’ve grown.”

Itachi doesn’t beat around the bush. “You are following me. May I ask why?”

His voice has deepened in the past six months, low and even. He’s still polite. Kakashi suppresses a shiver.

He takes his cue from Itachi. “I found out the truth about the massacre. I came to find you.”

Itachi’s eyes flick up to the hitai-ate he put back over Obito’s eye, still unslashed. “I do not think you are here to kill me, Kakashi-senpai. Is Konoha forgiving my crimes?”

Kakashi wonders if that’s a joke. He could never tell, during their time in ANBU. He opts for the truth. “I left Konoha. I have been classified as a missing-nin.”

Itachi is silent for a moment. Then his face distorts, and his whole body dissipates into a flock of crows. Kakashi does an about-face to where Itachi is really standing, a yard behind him.

He’s not sure where to go from here. Itachi lifting the genjutsu is encouraging. But the kid willingly obeyed Konoha orders to slaughter his clan and live the rest of his life as a hunted criminal. He must have loyalty to the Village still, or he would have gone to clear his name, revenge himself on the leadership, take his brother with him. He has done none of the above; Kakashi does not know whether he still sees himself as Konoha shinobi or not.

He’s been waiting for a month to find Itachi, and he spent much of it rehearsing different ways to explain his defection, ask about the massacre, find out what Itachi is planning to do with the rest of his life. Now that he’s here, he’s not sure how to proceed.

Itachi regards him coolly. “What is it that you want with me? You were disillusioned with ANBU before I joined your team. You told me as much when I was training. What does this have to do with me?”

Kakashi inclines his head. Itachi is right; he had been keenly aware of the role he played, the guilt and loneliness inherent in ANBU missions. He had seen Itachi, just Obito’s age, and had tried, vaguely, to warn him away from it. It had not been enough for him to defect then.

“I was… disillusioned with ANBU,” he says slowly. “I did not want a child to be doing the work that I was doing. But I thought—” He doesn’t know how to phrase what is so clearly delineated in his mind. The difference between him assassinating people on Konoha orders and Itachi killing his own clan on Konoha orders is so stark in his head, but it’s harder to express the conviction to Itachi than to the Sandaime. “Why did you accept that order, Itachi? You could have figured out another way.”

Itachi doesn’t have to answer him, doesn’t actually have to have this conversation at all. Kakashi is mostly at his mercy, meeting his eyes and not even uncovering his own Sharingan. He hopes it’s not a miscalculation. Uhei gives a low snarl at his side. Itachi tilts his head to one side, considering, looking for all the world like one of his crows.

“Danzo offered me a deal,” he says eventually. His voice is flat. “If I had not accepted the order, every single Uchiha would have been killed, without exception.”

So Pakkun was right, back in Konoha. Itachi spared Sasuke out of love. Kakashi remembers the way he had smiled in the hidden tower above the Uchiha compound, watching Sasuke run cheerfully home from school. Twisted, but love. “You could have killed Danzo.”

“That would not have prevented the coup,” Itachi says. “That would have aided the Uchiha clan’s goal. And it would have started a war.”

Kakashi had not thought of that, but of course Itachi is right. If Itachi had killed Danzo, it would have been a green light for the rest of the Uchiha to begin their coup on the Village; it would have been nothing more than an Uchiha murdering a superior, followed by more of the same. And Itachi could not have reported back the news of the orders to the clan, either. That too would have incited violence. But there had to be another way. The Sandaime could have brought forces to the Uchiha compound, shut the coup down before it could really begin. Lives would have been lost, but Itachi would not have had to kill his whole clan.

But maybe, that was what the Sandaime had intended, bringing so many ANBU to the compound the night of the massacre. He was not the CO who ordered Itachi to begin the slaughter, Danzo was. With a sudden glimmer of understanding, Kakashi wonders if the Sandaime had put Tenzo on guard on purpose a month ago, to let him into the records room.

Itachi looks up at him, the weariness of his eyes incongruous in his young face. “The Shodai Hokage created Konohagakure no Sato so that children would no longer have to go to war and die in adult battles.” 

Kakashi can’t hold back a snort. Itachi does not smile, but one slender eyebrow lifts slightly.

“I thought, if not me, then Sasuke,” Itachi says. Kakashi waits for him to continue, but that’s it, apparently. Itachi always was a little abrupt, he remembers with sudden clarity, despite his soft-spoken politeness.

But Kakashi understands anyway. If not Itachi, then Sasuke. Hadn’t he been in ANBU for the same reason? Too late for him, in a war by seven. If the Shodaime’s dream was not to be for him, he could make it true for someone else. He has dug himself a grave for eight years for that purpose alone, until he realized Konoha’s deception. 

“I thought, if not me, then you,” he says. Itachi’s mouth tightens slightly. “I defected because I will not kill anymore for a village that massacres its own clans. I came after you because I refuse to abandon a comrade. You already know what I promised Obito.”

He told Itachi, sitting under a tree, of his intent to honor, always, Obito’s wish. He had wondered then what, if anything, Shisui had said to Itachi before his death. Itachi wouldn’t tell him, but the grief had been etched on his face, the dark circles beneath his eyes deepened.

“Kakashi-senpai,” Itachi says, calm. “It is too late for me as well. I am a shinobi. I have already made that sacrifice.”

Kakashi wants to say no, you haven’t, you’re here and still alive and this world could be good for you too, but he doesn’t. He’s painfully aware that any argument he makes against that is completely hypocritical. Thinking exactly like Itachi has gotten him through the past decade of his life, from the war to his ANBU career. He doesn’t think Itachi will accept his conviction that he is, if not innocent, worthy of some kind of forgiveness. Kakashi certainly wouldn’t, in his shoes.

“What will you do now?” he asks. He actually doesn’t care. Either way, he’s going with Itachi. He did not break his vow to Konoha and walk a hundred miles to let Itachi brush him off in one conversation. He can work on the rest of it later; he’s sticking with the kid.

Itachi gestures with one hand to his robe. Kakashi notices he’s painted his nails a dark blue. “Is your eye devolving so quickly?”

Kakashi doesn’t even have Obito’s Sharingan open, but he rolls the other eye. “When did you start making jokes, kid?”

“It is clear from my clothing that I have joined Akatsuki,” Itachi says, completely serious. “You must be experiencing reduced vision to not have realized this.”

Kakashi feels a little lighter, somehow. “Okay, so you’ve joined Akatsuki. What next?” Akatsuki is mysterious. He knows they’re led by Jiraiya’s former students, and that they have wrested control of Amegakure away from Hanzo. But he’s also heard darker rumors, about how they have achieved their ends, about their plans for the future. Amegakure is difficult to survey; it’s small enough to be under complete surveillance from its leaders at all times, making spying nearly impossible. But apparently not completely, if you’re Itachi. 

Itachi tilts his head again. “I am keeping tabs on them in case they threaten Konoha.”

“You’re trying to protect Konoha? Still?” It’s an honest question; he doesn’t expect Itachi to destroy Konoha, but to actively continue work for her is beyond the call of loyalty and homeland.

“Sasuke is in Konoha,” says Itachi simply.

If not Itachi, then Sasuke. Kakashi needs no other explanation. He’s not going to ask, today at least, about the genjutsu Itachi tortured his little brother with. He’s not going to ask about his half-formed suspicion that Itachi actually wants Sasuke to kill him, truly wants Sasuke to avenge the Uchiha clan. But he will not forget those things either. He will go with Itachi for now, and he will try harder than he did in ANBU.

“I’m coming with you,” he says. Itachi frowns slightly. 

“I do not need your help,” Itachi tells him.

“But I won’t hinder you either,” says Kakashi cheerfully. “Come on. You know we were a good team.”

Itachi narrows his eyes. Kakashi holds his breath. Itachi has no particular reason to say yes, and probably several good reasons to say no. If he says no, they will have to either fight or Itachi will give him the slip, and Kakashi will have to track him again.

“I am on a surveillance mission to Sunagakure,” Itachi says finally. “I have another twenty miles to go today. I cannot be followed.” He turns and springs up into the trees. Kakashi follows him without hesitation.

—

Kakashi follows him instantly.

Itachi still does not know what Kakashi aims to do. Clearly, his defection from Konoha was mostly about his own long-held resentment toward ANBU, not the Uchiha massacre. Itachi remembers clearly how Kakashi had tried to steer him away from ANBU, how at the beginning every mission was accompanied by quiet commentary about the darkness of ANBU duties. It would never have worked; the Uchiha wanted him in ANBU, and he could not have been dissuaded from his duties no matter how unpleasant they were. But he had realized what Kakashi was trying to do for him, and trusted him a little more for it.

Kakashi’s defection is more surprising. He had been stubbornly loyal to Konoha the two years Itachi had known him, despite the grief and guilt that overshadowed his every move. But maybe he has interpreted Kakashi wrong. Maybe that obstinate loyalty had been to his teammates, whose graves he visited faithfully whenever they did not have missions, and not to the Village itself.

Either way, it is not worth it for Itachi to part from him right now. Regardless of his motivations, Kakashi is an excellent shinobi, and could unfailingly track Itachi down again. And if all the force of his stubborn devotion to his comrades is now focused on Itachi, it will be hard to avoid him. And Kakashi is right: they were a good team. Itachi will allow him to stick around for now.

Itachi tries hard not to think it, but he cannot help but be a little glad that someone knows the truth of the massacre. The guilt of it is enormous, a burden he has resigned himself to carrying until Sasuke comes to put him to rest. He deserves no forgiveness, because orders or no orders, the simple fact is that he murdered his own parents in cold blood. He would do it again, for Sasuke, and for Shisui. Kakashi seems to understand this, without Itachi needing to explain.

Next to him, Kakashi bites his thumb and summons his entire pack of ninken. All eight dogs fan out around them, except for the pug, who takes up stride right between them.

“You found him, boss,” the dog observes. Itachi glances sideways at him.

“I found him,” Kakashi agrees, still obnoxiously cheery. Itachi had forgotten this part of his persona. Mainly how annoying it is.

“Where are we going?” the dog asks. Silence. Itachi looks down to see the dog staring at him. Kakashi’s expression is completely, deliberately blank.

“Sunagakure,” he tells the dog. “We are infiltrating.”

“You said surveillance!” says Kakashi. 

Itachi stares at him. “How can we surveil the city without infiltrating it?”

The dog opens his mouth, and Kakashi says, “Shut it, Pakkun.” Pakkun’s mouth closes. “Akatsuki sends you alone, Itachi?”

Itachi wonders what the possibility is that he didn’t actually defect, and he’s here to gather intelligence on Akatsuki and Itachi. Kakashi is brutal and stubborn, but he’s also unusually honest. Also, his hitai-ate is not slashed through, which would have been an obvious part of a cover as a missing-nin. Itachi suspects Kakashi has left it unmarked for sentimental reasons.

“In partners,” he says. “But my usual partner is not given to stealth. And I requested this mission alone.”

There’s an expectant silence from both human and dog. Itachi ignores them both primly.

His current partner is Kisame, who is an excellent partner in many ways. Stealth is not one of them. He is too big and too blue, and he does not care about being unobtrusive. This is ideal for Itachi, who prefers not to have the attention of others on him when possible, but it means that he is taking this mission alone.

Also, and he is still debating whether to tell Kakashi, this is the first time that he has been out alone since Orochimaru started eyeing his Sharingan. They were semi-regular partners until a few months ago, when Konan swapped everyone around after Kakuzu murdered his partner again. Itachi is relatively confident he can protect himself against Orochimaru, but Orochimaru is still one of the Sannin, the most legendary ninjas in recent memory. He requested the mission alone even without knowing it was a stealth mission. He wants intel about what exactly Orochimaru has planned for the Sharingan.

Kakashi clears his throat. “Who’s your usual partner? And why alone?”

“Hoshigaki Kisame, formerly of Kiri,” Itachi says. He pauses. Telling Kakashi about Orochimaru’s interest would be strategically sound, as he would then have a second person on guard. But Kakashi has a Sharingan, and is not an Uchiha. Itachi knows it was a gift from his partner Obito, but it was still a gift taken from a dying relative. For all that the clan has done and been to Itachi, he is still reluctant to discuss with Kakashi the allure of their kekkei genkai.

But that is not practical. As far as Itachi can tell, Kakashi has built his life around his memory of Obito. His devotion to Obito’s legacy is almost religious in its consistency; almost every question Itachi asked him in their ANBU days was answered based on Kakashi’s commitment to his comrades. He was not lured to his Sharingan by thirst for the kekkei genkai. So Itachi says, “I requested this mission solo partly because I believe that Orochimaru wants to obtain my eyes. He has expressed interest recently while at Akatsuki, and he is more likely to make an attempt if I am alone.”

By “expressed interest”, Itachi means that Orochimaru has repeatedly lingered in the shadows of their hideout, swiped his tongue around his lips, run light touches down Itachi’s arms and purred, “Such keen eyes you have, Itachi-kun.” He does not share this memory with Kakashi, but he’s caught his companion’s attention anyway.

“Orochimaru?” Pakkun says, looking at Kakashi. “That’s, uh, not good.”

Itachi can only see Kakashi’s right eye, staring fiercely ahead. He’s unreadable otherwise.

“That creepy bastard,” Kakashi mutters finally. “I bet he’s expressed _interest._ Fucker never saw a kekkei genkai he didn’t try and steal.” His jaw tightens beneath the mask. Itachi wonders how much Kakashi has interpreted from his carefully vague phrasing. Perhaps he is familiar with Orochimaru.

“I think that he is interested in Sunagakure as well, so it would be convenient for him to ambush me there,” Itachi explains. “We should be on our guard.”

“Convenient,” says Kakashi dryly. “Okay, noted.”

They make camp that night at the mouth of the dry valley they met in. Before them sprawl miles of cracked, barren earth, marking the transition from River Country to Wind Country. Directly east, the earth becomes the endless dunes of Wind.

“You’ve been through the desert before?” Kakashi asks him, and Itachi lowers his gaze from the darkening horizon to their campfire. It is not exactly wise to broadcast their presence so openly, but realistically between the two of them there are relatively few shinobi who will pose a serious threat. Itachi suspects that Kakashi wants to be spotted, for the news to make it around the Continent of both his defection and new company. He does not argue.

“Only once,” he admits. “Envoy to Suna. Have you?”

“Yes,” says Kakashi. He doesn’t elaborate on this, but he adds buoyantly, “I like the desert.”

Itachi turns his gaze on the level sands stretching away into the night and says nothing. Land is land, but in his dreams he still wanders the massive sequoias of Fire Country. They are not the tallest trees he has ever seen, but they are so thick ten men could hold hands around one and not close the loop. He used to train in those forests, to meditate in the dewy sunrises in the rounded tops of the sequoias right outside the Uchiha compound. He fled to one of those trees right after the massacre, to wait for the bodies to be discovered, and to threaten Danzo over Sasuke’s life.

“I have always liked the ocean,” he says instead. It is not a lie. He likes the eternal renewal of it, the waves breaking and breaking and breaking against the same shore forever.

Kakashi turns his keen gaze onto Itachi’s face. So rare, this willingness to look into his eyes. Itachi wonders if it’s calculated, whether Kakashi trusts him, wants him to think he does, or simply does not care about his own life. The last seems like the Kakashi of eight months ago, but not the one in front of him. Even in the two hours that they’ve been together, Itachi has noticed that Kakashi is holding himself more loosely, has smiled with his exposed eye more times than in a month of ANBU work.

“Do you miss Konoha?” Kakashi asks him quietly. Itachi blinks.

“I was in Konoha a month ago,” he says. “I thought you would have sensed me.”

Kakashi’s eyebrow quirks. “I asked Pakkun why you’d be in Konoha. We figured out that night that something was wrong with the story.”

Itachi nods. He doesn’t know what the Sandaime had told the village exactly. Presumably that he had gone crazy, or been corrupted by evil somehow. He supposes it is not surprising that someone who knew him would have seen through that fiction.

“You have not slashed your hitai-ate,” he observes neutrally. Kakashi frowns, firelight painting shadows across his face.

“It seemed weird to. Feels like someone else is supposed to do it.”

Itachi regards him silently. Kakashi unties the headband, and with one quick, clinical motion, slashes the tip of a kunai horizontally through the stylized leaf design. He holds it in his hands for a moment, Sharingan swirling slowly.

“Yes,” Itachi says quietly. “I miss it.” Mostly, he misses the stability of belonging somewhere, the ability to relax when walking the streets of Konoha or the Uchiha compound. The normality of returning from a mission to Sasuke shouting “NII-SAN!” at the top of his lungs and dragging him into shuriken training.

It strikes him how honest he has been with Kakashi. More honest, by a wide margin, than he has been with anyone since Shisui. He wonders if it has been wise, but part of him has always resolutely trusted Kakashi, since they worked together in ANBU. There is something about Kakashi that inspires trust, no matter how he portrays himself. Since the day Itachi asked him if he would really kill a comrade for a mission, and Kakashi told him with calm sincerity that he would die to protect his comrades, he has trusted Kakashi.

The other man lets out a long sigh, flopping back onto the pine needles they piled into beds. “Sasuke is lucky,” he says, “to have a brother like you.”

Itachi privately does not agree, but it is not a point worth debating. He is the brother Sasuke has—the only brother Sasuke will ever have, now—for better or for worse.

Itachi lets his eyes slide shut. “I am my brother’s keeper,” he answers quietly. It’s a line from a legend his mother told him once. She was a deputy of Konoha’s Intelligence Bureau; she heard intel from across the Continent, collected rumors and whispers and sometimes legends to file into Konoha’s records. She told her favorites to Itachi when he was very small. He is quoting a line from an old story they tell in the far north of Earth Country, that his mother had told him when she was pregnant with Sasuke. In the earliest days of the world, there were two brothers. One murdered the other in a fit of jealousy, the spilled blood cried out from the ground in sorrow, and a god descended from the heavens. He asked the murderer what had become of his brother, and the murderer said only, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” The god had cursed him to wander the world in torment, and never to find death. 

Itachi has done what the brother did; he has murdered his kin and spilled their blood upon the ground. The sorrow of all that blood cries out to him, even across two countries, and he is still wandering. He wonders if the brother felt the guilt of his actions press into him with every day of his fugitive life. Itachi does.

But unlike the story, Itachi will not have to wander this world forever. One day, Sasuke will come to give him his death, and Itachi will die with his little brother alive and with his clan name untainted by treachery. He can ask for no more than that. He is his brother’s keeper; that is all he will ever be.

Kakashi doesn’t respond other than a hum of acknowledgment, followed by a small flare of chakra as he smothers the fire with a fuuton.

“The dogs will set a perimeter,” he tells Itachi. “Sleep.”

Itachi pulls his hood up against the chill of the dry night air, and sleeps. One of Kakashi’s dogs curls up comfortably by his feet. Tomorrow, they will arrive in Sunagakure. They should both seek rest while they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u all for your lovely comments! also i know i was complaining about the apocalypticness here but i am not in any imminent danger (just the complete environmental collapse we're all facing <3) aha ahhaha ha ha ha.


	4. Keeping Up With Konoha's Most Wanted: Road Trip!

“Infiltrating Sunagakure” apparently, if you’re Uchiha Itachi, is about the easiest thing in the world. Kakashi would be pissed about how simple he makes it look if he weren’t so goddamn thirsty after three hours in the desert. Itachi weaves a genjutsu around them, a don’t-look-at-me-I’m-not-at-all-interesting genjutsu that makes every guard completely forget to ask them for ID, if they acknowledge them at all. They just walk through the massive sandstone wall and bam. They’ve infiltrated.

Kakashi turns a sardonic eye on Itachi. “Don’t remember you pulling this one out of your sleeve in ANBU, Uchiha. Could’ve been useful.”

“There was never a need,” says Itachi, unperturbed.

“Great,” Kakashi mutters. He forgot how cocky Itachi is. Well, not even cocky, because he doesn’t even brag about anything. He doesn’t need to. He’s so calm and assured of his own power a lesser shinobi might be tempted to punch him. Kakashi just kind of wants to bother him.

He ruffles Itachi’s hair like he does to annoy Tenzo. “Good work, kid. Where to?”

Itachi’s face softens into a faint pout. Kakashi smirks. Itachi reminds him of a cat, so determinedly dignified that he’s just begging to be pestered. Maybe it’s an Uchiha family trait. Obito had none of Itachi’s composure, but he was so easy to rile up Kakashi could never resist. He’s really only continuing his sworn duty to Obito by bothering Itachi.

“I am here to find out who is the jinchuuriki of the Ichibi,” Itachi says. “But Nagato does not want Suna to know of Akatsuki’s interest. We are spending one night here.”

He leads the way down the sandstone streets to an inn. Kakashi wonders if he should perform a henge, or if this business is in league with Akatsuki somehow. As it turns out, neither; Itachi works another genjutsu on the front desk girl and they are given a corner room with no trouble.

“Why are you paying if you could just make her think you paid?” Kakashi asks, watching Itachi count out bills onto the front desk. The girl smiles vacantly, sliding them into her cash register.

Itachi gives him a stare of withering condescension. “We’re using a room at her inn. Why would I not pay?”

Kakashi very carefully does not let Itachi see him smile again. No matter how powerful Itachi is, it’s never not going to be funny to receive such disdain from a fourteen-year-old. Kakashi’s glad they’re allied, at least temporarily, so Itachi can be rude to him again. It reminds him powerfully of Obito again, who when he felt especially disrespected would lapse back into the haughty superiority of the Uchiha.

Their room is clean and pretty, whitewashed walls and linen curtains keeping out the worst of the day’s heat. There are two twin beds, and Kakashi flops gratefully onto one. He likes the desert’s desolate appeal, but the heat is stifling.

Itachi is stripping off his black robe with quick, clinical motions. Kakashi watches him through one slitted eye, cataloguing his appearance. He looks skinnier. He entered ANBU with baby fat still on his cheeks, slighter even than Tenzo. The baby fat is gone, replaced by the awkward coltishness of someone who has grown a lot in a short amount of time. Kakashi makes a mental note to buy the kid some sweets.

“Tea?” he suggests, propping himself up on his elbows.

It turns out that they have very little tea in Sunagakure no Sato, because of the heat and the cost of import. What they do have is a lot of drinks made of camel’s milk, which they discover upon entering a café. It also seems that discovering the identity of Suna’s jinchuuriki is going to be almost comically easy. The little girl at the next table is telling her mother with wide-eyed excitement about the ‘demon boy’ that she saw earlier.

Itachi raises his eyebrows very slightly at Kakashi. His fingers flicker in ANBU sign around his cup. Mission intel—confirmation required—ask target—you hold.

Kakashi holds obediently, curious. Itachi is not a natural undercover agent. He doesn’t put on new personas with the ease that Kakashi does, to say nothing of a born spy like Yugao.

Itachi knocks his drink over violently. It sprays all over the little girl’s table. Itachi, already apologizing profusely, bobs his head when the mother hands him a napkin. The little girl looks up at him with huge eyes, and he grimaces comically at her. It’s so unlike Itachi that Kakashi almost laughs aloud. He’s imitating someone—he’s imitating Tenzo, Kakashi realizes, Tenzo when he screws up during training and is all worried they’ll be mad at him.

The little girl’s face has shifted into a pout. “That was my after-school snack!” she says to Itachi angrily. “And you got it all wet!”

Itachi glances nervously at the mother, who’s folded her arms and is regarding him with one skeptical brow raised. “I’ll buy you another one!” he says anxiously. “I’m sorry!”

She frowns harder. “I don’t want another one. I want that one.” She gestures to the soggy pastry on her plate.

Itachi crouches down to her level, and says, “What if you come and pick the one you want?” He glances at her mother again. Her face softens, and she nods at him. Kakashi is surprised at her easy acquiescence, but she’s a civilian. She must see Itachi only as a kind fourteen-year-old boy. It strikes Kakashi that she’s not wrong, that part of Itachi was a beloved big brother for years. Mass murderer or not, there is a gentleness to Itachi that he buries for shinobi life. Kakashi sees it in the way he talks to this child, the way he pays at the inn even though he doesn’t have to. 

The girl trots obligingly after Itachi towards the front counter, under her mother’s watchful eye the whole way. Kakashi sips his fermented camel’s milk and pretends to be engrossed in the fake cactus on the middle of their table.

“The jinchuuriki is the Kazekage’s youngest son,” Itachi informs him in a low voice as they leave the café. “All of Suna knows this. The Ichibi makes him unstable and he kills people with sand. They are terrified of him.”

Kakashi’s mildly interested to hear this, but he’s not a part of Akatsuki, and he doesn’t know what they want with the Ichibi. The back of his brain is curious already why the Ichibi would make its host murderous—the Kyuubi never did so to Kushina, so it could be a difference in the beast, in the host, or maybe in the seal—but mostly he’s wondering what Itachi’s next move is going to be.

Itachi says, “We are leaving the city. It would not be wise to linger here.” He brings his hands up into a seal, then another, until Kakashi recognizes the modified shunshin he’s going to employ. It’s flashy, disappearing in an explosion of genjutsu and a flare of chakra. He raises an eyebrow at Itachi.

“Trust me, Kakashi-senpai,” Itachi says, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. He folds his fingers into the hare seal, and explodes into his usual flock of crows. Bemused, Kakashi mimics him, reappearing just outside the city walls.

“What was that for?” he asks. “I thought Nagato did not want Suna to know about Akatsuki?”

Itachi is paying him literally no attention, eyes narrowed and scanning the horizon. Kakashi rolls his eye. Tenzo has given him a lot of patient instruction in the past few years about Explaining Shit to Your Less Brilliant Teammates, which Kakashi has honestly attempted to improve, but only to a point. There are some times (okay, many times) when he would prefer that his teammates don’t know about his plans, and just obey him unquestioningly.

“We head northeast,” Itachi says eventually. He’s holding himself in readiness. Kakashi watches the line of his shoulders tighten, and then, deliberately, smooth out. Expecting something to happen, but not too suddenly.

Orochimaru, then. Kakashi has met him only a few times, while acting as Minato’s aide/apprentice/ANBU/former student that no one knew what to do with. Even then, the man’s power had been obvious, his sleek, deadly, chakra oppressive even from across a room. Sannin, not to be underestimated. Kakashi knows Jiraiya well enough to know the old pervert could probably kill him without really breaking a sweat. Senju Tsunade is legendary enough that even without meeting her, Kakashi wouldn’t have bet on even Minato to beat her. Orochimaru, creepy motherfucker that he is, is in their league. Sick.

They run through the desert for three hours, stopping when the sun is low and swollen in the sky and their shadows stretch on long and rippling across the dunes.

Itachi pulls up to a halt on the western side of a jutting red rock, facing the setting sun. The sky is darkening slowly into shades of purple to the east, but to the west the view is overwhelmingly red, dunes, sky, and scattered rocks painted into fire by the sun. Kakashi slaps a paper seal on the rock to his right, and standard ANBU wards tingle into life around them.

“No wards, please,” says Itachi politely.

“You’re kidding,” says Kakashi. “One of the most legendary ninjas in living memory wants to come steal your eyes, and you don’t even want an advance warning?”

Itachi’s brave, sure, but he’s not an idiot. He can’t want to confront a legendary Sannin this badly. Unless, Kakashi realizes, this is the same as the massacre. Maybe he is willing to let Orochimaru take his eyes, if that means he won’t take Sasuke’s. But Sasuke doesn’t even have the Sharingan yet. That seems like a risky gamble.

“I can beat him,” says Itachi calmly. Kakashi looks over. He’s utterly still, in a way that means it’s a conscious effort.

“You do want to beat him,” Kakashi says slowly.

Itachi gives him another scornful stare, somehow without even changing expression. “Yes.”

“If he takes your eyes, he won’t need to take Sasuke’s,” Kakashi says, blunt.

Itachi looks over at him sharply. “I am not willing to bet on that.”

Fair. Orochimaru isn’t exactly a model of restraint. Kakashi resigns himself to the fact that again, Itachi is probably right.

Which is exactly when Orochimaru rises straight up out of the sand thirty feet in front of them.

Next to Kakashi, Itachi rises to his feet, one hand sliding into his Akatsuki robe. Orochimaru, in a matching black robe, draws himself to his full height, swaying like one of his snakes.

“My lucky day, Itachi-kun,” he calls. “You brought Kakashi too. Another Sharingan for me. Hello, Kakashi.”

“Yo,” says Kakashi. The possibility flutters across his mind that Itachi has been playing him, and is going to give him up to Orochimaru or the Akatsuki. But he’s trusted the kid this far. It’s a little late to back out now. And they have a better chance of beating Orochimaru together.

“You are not going to take anyone’s eyes today,” Itachi tells Orochimaru steadily. Kakashi really, really hopes he’s not bluffing.

A slow smile spreads across Orochimaru’s face. His tongue darts out to swipe delicately across thin lips. “I think we’ll see about that, Itachi-kun,” he purrs, and raises one arm, palm towards them. Kakashi readies himself to dodge.

Snakes explode from the end of Orochimaru’s sleeve, shooting towards Itachi faster than Kakashi’s eye can track. He substitutes instinctively with a rock to his left. Itachi doesn’t move.

The snakes are already twined around Itachi, who still hasn’t moved. Kakashi pushes up his hitai-ate and opens Obito’s eye, bracing himself for the familiar stab of pain. It’s a genjutsu. Itachi is really standing beside Orochimaru, Sharingan swirling in both eyes.

Orochimaru narrows his eyes, tongue flickering out like a snake.

“I can smell you, Itachi-kun,” he hisses, and strikes out to his right, a curved knife in his hand. Itachi flickers into existence, the knife drives directly into his chest, and he looks directly at Orochimaru, face blank.

Kakashi is already hurling a fuuton at Orochimaru, the desert air sharpened into whirling blades. The Sannin raises a palm without even looking, and a snake rears up and swallows the fuuton whole. Kakashi flips to the side an instant before it spits the air blades back at him, deep grooves carved in the sand where he was just standing.

Itachi’s body explodes into crows, and Orochimaru snarls, face twisted with fury.

“You are overconfident,” Itachi’s calm voice says. Kakashi can’t pinpoint where he is, even with Obito’s eye. Perhaps this is Itachi’s Mangekyou. “You want my eyes so much that you have overlooked my power.”

Orochimaru’s thin lips turn up into a smile. “You are powerful indeed, Itachi-kun.” He spins the knife in his hand idly. “I want your eyes, but I will settle for Kakashi’s until you decide to truly face me.”

He strikes, the knife hurtling across the sand. Kakashi launches himself upwards, out of reach, but there is a snake rippling through the air toward him, jaws gaping. He catches its fang on the blade of a kunai, driving his tanto into the side of its neck with his other hand. The snake writhes.

“Katon: Hosenka no Jutsu!” Itachi shouts from below him, and fireballs whirl toward Orochimaru. Kakashi throws another fuuton toward the Sannin, who sinks directly into the ground. The fireballs slam into the sand where he was, dying away into four shuriken.

Kakashi lands next to Itachi, wiping his tanto clean of the snake’s blood.

“Chatty, isn’t he?” he remarks pleasantly.

“He wants your eyes only as long as he cannot have mine,” says Itachi, brows lowered. Not one single hair is out of place from his sleek ponytail. 

Orochimaru emerges from the ground in front of them, untouched. He’s still smiling, disconcertingly enough.

“You are strong, too, Kakashi,” he purrs. “Jiraiya and Minato were good for you.”

“Thanks,” says Kakashi. “I try.”

“Kakashi-senpai,” Itachi mutters next to him. Kakashi glances over. Itachi’s Mangekyou is alive, the curved swirls from his dream in Konoha spinning slowly.

“Enough talking,” Orochimaru announces, arrogant. “I am here for more of those red eyes.”

Two snakes curl into being around him, rising on either side of his head. It’s mesmerizing, the sway of their bodies, the glitter of their eyes. Faster than thought, they shoot towards Itachi and Kakashi.

Kakashi substitutes himself instinctively with another rock, but Itachi does not move. Both snakes wrap themselves around his shoulders

“This again, Itachi-kun?” Orochimaru says. “You underestimate me. I am a legendary Sannin.” He blurs in motion, and reappears in front of Itachi, the curved knife back in his hand.

He digs the tip into Itachi’s eyelid. Blood trickles down one pale cheekbone.

Kakashi blinks Obito’s eye, and blinks it again. He sees no genjutsu. Itachi is really there. He flings three shuriken at Orochimaru. One of the snakes deflects them scornfully.

Orochimaru giggles. “Do not worry, Itachi-kun. I will put these eyes to use.” He brings the knife sideways in one smooth motion, and blood pours down Itachi’s face. Orochimaru smiles, brings his free hand up, and yanks out Itachi’s eye.

Kakashi spits a katon at him, throws a fuuton after it, fans the flames as hot and fierce as hungry as he can manage. The snakes deflect everything effortlessly. A growl of frustrated helplessness bubbles up in his throat. This opponent is too powerful, and Itachi isn’t even fighting.

Orochimaru, holding Itachi’s eye in one palm, doubles over as if he’s been punched. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth.

Itachi, half his face a mess of blood, the other half eerily perfect, looks down at him contemptuously. His Mangekyou is whirling in the unhurt eye. Oh. 

“Mangekyou Sharingan,” Kakashi breathes, and Obito’s eye burns so fiercely in his head he almost cries out, but now he can see. Through a haze of pain, he can see the genjutsu Itachi just had them both in, and below it the reality: Itachi unharmed, Orochimaru in his original place, stabbed through the middle by a stake that doesn’t really exist.

Itachi glances at him. “Apologies, Kakashi. I did not have time to explain.” 

Kakashi waves a hand, pretending his heart isn’t fucking pounding from watching Orochimaru literally rip out one of Itachi’s eyes. “I understand.” Itachi slants him a look that says he probably isn’t pretending as well as he wants to be.

Orochimaru coughs again. Itachi’s eyes narrow, and another stake made of genjustu drives itself through Orochimaru’s chest.

“This isn’t real,” Orochimaru grits out. He wraps his hands around his middle, in thin air where the invisible projectile has lodged itself. He yanks, hard, and blood spurts out onto the sand. “How can I be trapped and know it isn’t real?”

“This is the power of my dojutsu,” Itachi says. “You cannot hope to match the Mangekyou Sharingan.”

Confident little shit. From what Kakashi’s seen, he’s right. Kakashi doesn’t know what Obito’s Mangekyou can do, just that it hurts like hell and lets him see through Itachi’s genjutsu, apparently. He doesn’t get a chance to explore this train of thought further, however, because another chakra signature appears right next to Orochimaru.

“Kabuto,” says Itachi.

The new guy blinks. He’s got gray hair, a Konoha hitai-ate, and stupid round glasses that reflect the sun. He looks like a dweeb. “You know who I am?” he says, surprised.

Itachi doesn’t bother to answer that dumb comment. Glasses guy isn’t listening, but turning to Orochimaru and shooting a glare at Itachi.

“Come on, Orochimaru-sama,” he says. “We’re leaving.” He places a palm over Orochimaru’s stomach, glowing green with medical ninjutsu. The wound begins to close rapidly. A skilled medic, and a traitor to Konoha, or a spy. An instinctive anger rises up in Kakashi’s chest. He ignores it; he has no ties to Konoha anymore.

“I will let you leave for now,” Itachi says coldly. “But do not try to take my eyes again. Or his.” He nods towards Kakashi. “You know now that I am stronger than you.”

Kabuto hauls Orochimaru’s arm over his shoulder, and disappears instantly in a shunshin. Kakashi notes it’s the typical Konoha shunshin, a swirl of leaves drifting to the desert floor, and passes out instantly.

—

“Excellent Mangekyou usage,” Itachi says neutrally when Kakashi opens his eye. His hitai-ate has been pushed back down over Obito’s eye. Something soft has been shoved under his head.

He feels like shit. Drained, mouth dry, a deep ache in his whole body like his skin is too tight. Itachi is picking a hell of a time to start being sarcastic.

“Fuck off,” he says, pushing himself to a sitting position and ignoring the stabs of white-hot pain that lance through his temples.

Itachi’s mouth curls up into an actual smile, however small. “I did not know you could do that. You are a better Sharingan wielder than I thought.”

Rin’s death bursts unbidden into Kakashi’s head. He scrubs at the imaginary blood on his right hand before he catches himself. “Yeah. Well.”

Itachi’s dark eyes flick down to his hand and back up. He must know about Rin; he as much as asked Kakashi about it back in ANBU. He doesn’t comment.

“Why did you let him go?” Kakashi asks.

Itachi frowns, tracing idle patterns in the sand with his finger. “Kabuto is stronger than he appears, and your chakra was depleting. I did not think it was wise to take them on in the middle of the desert right then and there.” He pauses, smoothing out the sand. “Orochimaru has broken with Akatsuki. I do not know what they will do with him.”

They, Kakashi notes. Itachi is wearing his red-and-black robe still, but he has shown no inclination to return to Akatsuki base. Kakashi looks around. They’re still in the desert, but probably closer to the edge of it. The endless dunes of earlier have given way to cracked, dry rock and scrubby plants.

“Sitrep?” he asks Itachi, carefully not making it an order.

Itachi kind of sits up a little straighter anyway. A lifetime of military discipline is hard to shake in just six months. 

“Orochimaru and Kabuto en route to Orochimaru’s hideout in the Land of Rice Fields,” he says. “Akatsuki presumably aware of his defection. I am expected to report back.” 

Kakashi waits. Itachi was an ANBU Captain: he knows which questions Kakashi’s not asking.

“You are not going to join Akatsuki,” Itachi says. “But Kabuto was frequently on base despite not being an official member. I will go to make my report, and you will come along as my associate.”

“Will that raise suspicion?” Kakashi asks.

Itachi’s lips thin. “Perhaps. You are well known. But Akatsuki does not demand absolute commitment. Many of us have outside motivations and plans that do not involve the group. They only require that our other attachments do not interfere with Akatsuki plans.”

Kakashi can’t help but wonder how the fuck Akatsuki even operates. He knows that the leaders are Jiraiya’s kids from Amegakure, and that they’re supposedly fighting for peace in Ame and in the Great Nations, but the other members he knows of are Orochimaru, Hoshigaki Kisame of Kiri, and Itachi. With an organization made up entirely of missing-nin like the above, fighting for the end of war in Ame seems a bit dubious. But he does trust Itachi’s judgment, however moronic it might be to follow a fourteen-year-old mass murderer into a den of rogue ninja. Minato-sensei killed a thousand shinobi in a day once. There’s only so far he can differentiate between murder in war and murdering your family to prevent a war. Kakashi’s body count is probably still higher than Itachi’s. He trusts the kid.

“Done,” he says, sliding his eye shut again and laying back on the sand. “Can we go tomorrow?” It’s funny to ask Itachi things like that, after commanding him for a year. But he really, really doesn’t want to scare Itachi away, or resume the roles they held in Konoha. The thought of being Itachi’s ANBU CO again makes him a little ill, now. Neither of them needs that.

There’s a hint of amusement in Itachi’s voice when he says, “I do not think you are going anywhere today.”

Kakashi groans. “It’s not my fault, Uchiha. You were made for Sharingan, I wasn’t.”

Silence, and then Itachi says quietly, “You wield it better than many Uchiha. My cousin Obito chose wisely.”

Kakashi realizes with mild horror that the cloth of his hitai-ate is damp. It’s familiar, the irritation at the tears pooling in Obito’s eye. Stupid fucking crybaby-ass Uchiha. Stupid eyeball that somehow, ten years after its owner’s death, still weeps when Kakashi least wants it to.

“Thanks, kid,” he says, annoyed to find his voice a little gravelly.

Itachi gives a light hum. Kakashi slits his eye open. He’s let his hair out of its usual ponytail, dark strands drifting around his face as he stares into the middle distance, chin propped on one hand, elbow resting on his knee. His Akatsuki cloak is gone, pale arms bared to the shoulder.

He looks so young like this, one leg kicked out across the dry earth, gazing at the horizon, his eyes bright in the rays of the dying sun. Kakashi reaches up to the soft bundle under his head and realizes it’s the red and black robe. Itachi has bundled it carefully into a pillow for him.

Affection warms his chest. Analytical, practical, a little stiff, a little formal, but Itachi is kind in his quiet, sweet, way. This is the source of Kakashi’s faith in him. This is the child he abandoned Konoha for. Itachi is the best of them; raised in a war, but never has he erred like Kakashi into forgetting the value of his people. Kakashi has molded his life around what Obito believed. Itachi never needed an Obito to follow. He has an internal clarity of purpose, an unwavering commitment to love and justice. If only he weren’t a shinobi, Kakashi thinks, and smothers the rueful laugh that wants to come out.

“Orochimaru,” says Itachi abruptly, and his dark eyes lock on Kakashi unwaveringly. “He said something odd.”

“Everything he says is odd,” Kakashi grumbles, but he’s already mentally rerunning their whole fight.

“He said he was here for more red eyes,” Itachi says.

Kakashi remembers that suddenly, and sits up. Pain spikes through his temples. “Shit.”

Itachi looks pensive, not panicked. He doesn’t do panic, not to Kakashi’s knowledge, but he doesn’t even look disturbed. “There is no other living Uchiha from whom he could have taken them.”

Kakashi mulls that statement for a second. So he could have taken Sharingan from the dead Uchiha, of which there are plenty. Or is Itachi saying that there is another living Uchiha, strong enough to beat Orochimaru?

“Sasuke has not awakened his Sharingan,” Itachi continues. “The Sandaime would have informed me if anything had happened to him.”

Talking to Itachi involves a lot of filling in the blanks, Kakashi is remembering. He doesn’t outright lie, but he withholds information easily and often. The Sandaime can’t be in contact with an active Akatsuki member, but Itachi seems positive.

He decides to ignore that part and focuses on the looming question. “There’s another living Uchiha? Besides you and your brother?”

Itachi actually frowns. “Yes. But he is stronger than Orochimaru by far.”

Kakashi can’t hold it in. He can’t think of a single possibility. He counted every single Uchiha body that night. “Who?” The only person he can think of is Itachi’s cousin, but that can’t be... “Shisui?”

Pain flits across Itachi’s face, as raw as it was right after his cousin’s death. Kakashi winces internally.

“No,” Itachi says flatly, after a beat. “Uchiha Madara.”

No way, Kakashi thinks immediately. Seventy years ago, Konohagakure was founded by Senju Hashirama, his brother Tobirama, and his best friend Uchiha Madara. Madara defected, for reasons that with time have become unclear. The mistreatment of the Uchiha Clan, a break with his friend Hashirama, simply being evil. But he was already almost thirty. There is no way he could be alive today.

But Uchiha Madara was on the same level as Senju Hashirama. Gods among shinobi, ninjas who carved wounds in the earth itself when they clashed. If you had to bet on which shinobi had been able to prolong his life for decades upon decades, Uchiha Madara would not be the worst bet you could make.

“Shit,” he says again. His head is pounding. Obito’s eye is itchy and hot under his hitai-ate. “Shit.”

Itachi turns bottomless black eyes on him again. “You should rest, Kakashi-senpai. This will keep until tomorrow.”

Kakashi’s on a different mental track. Uchiha Madara is not a problem he can solve right now anyway. He might not be Kakashi’s problem at all. “Orochimaru—then he must have stolen Sharingan. From the bodies.”

Itachi’s eyes burn red, and killing intent, crackling and focused, presses against Kakashi’s mind. He winces, and the feeling recedes.

“Yes,” says Itachi. “I think we should change our plans.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> much like kakashi, i wonder how the hell akatsuki could have been a functional organization. anyway, i'm back at school, so i will no longer be matching the manic efficiency of my adhd-fueled summer hyperfocus on this story, but it's all in my head, it'll just be slower lol


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